#as a substitute to her time changing in the fade and becoming

[shslivalice]

dndverse!briar hawke is such a good boy. friend-shaped. actually is sharper then he looks. i mean, raised by the kirkwall gang so. i did art for a token of him (pixel art) and a keychain as a 1:10 scale (he is a meter tall :3c)

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

In the Dead of Night

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Swan!Reader

Warnings:none really, renee being a bad mom, reader having to basically parent both renee and bella, charlie being typical charlie, edward maybe ooc?

Words:5712

Nessa=Renesmee but like hell I’m keeping that name xD

You felt a bit shell shocked when your father drove his police cruiser through the small town of Forks. Both you and Bella have your faces pressed against your respective windows. Charlie catches a glimpse of his daughters via rear view mirror and smiles a little to himself.

Gone was the sand of Arizona as was the blazing sun that had you feeling uncomfortable in your own skin. Little love would be lost from leaving Arizona. That was something you and Bella could agree on.

The blues and grays that was a perpetual filter over Forks better suited you. Spending your last high school year wouldn’t be too bad. Then you could decide to live anywhere you want. No more responsibility for Bella and suffering from a flighty and unpredictable mom. While you love them both dearly, it wasn’t easy growing up having to act like a parent to both of them. Bella excelled academically, but you constantly worried for her safety. She was like a magnet for danger. There was always a scrap to bandage or something else that required you to comfort her through.

Renee was no better. It was worse being a mother to your actual mom. You were the one to always call her when it was getting too late. Always you taking care of Bella because Renee took a surprise trip and just left you a note and some money.

Just because you were a year older than your sister, Renee deemed you ready enough to be a substitute mom.

At least she never let the two of you go starving or without anything. That much you would give her.

There was hardly any emotional warmth in the house though.

Much like everything else about Forks, nothing seemed to have changed in Charlie’s home. The two small beds had new sheets on them but everything else was as you and Bella had left it.

“Sorry the two of you have to share a room.” Charlie awkwardly apologizes. He addresses you “I know how older kids like to have their own space.”

That was laughable. You’d never had your own space, but it was sweet of him. “Don’t worry about it.” You offer him an unsteady grin as you and your sister still felt partially awkward around your dad. It’s been years since you’ve even spoken to him for this long. He never fought to see you and seemed perfectly satisfied to lose contact with both of you.

Every inch of the room was frozen in time as your eyes rove in observation.

You remind yourself that it was just one. More year. One more year and just one bathroom shared between the three of you.

Breaking the silence was a sharp honk coming from right outside your bedroom window. Both you and Bella scramble to peer out of it.

A beat up, rusty red pickup truck turns its engine off. You’re still unable to see its occupants.

“That would be Billy Black.” Your dad explained with a small smile.

the last name did ring a bell in your vague memory from. Childhood. You look at Bella who just shrugs and follows Charlie into the hallway.

Outside a young teenager is helping an older man into a waiting wheelchair.

Charlie clears his throat. “You girls remember billy Black.”

Billy’s smile is warm and makes your posture relax a bit. “Glad you’re finally here.”

Both he and Charlie become distracted by their own conversation leaving the teen boy to introduce himself. “I’m Jacob. I think both of you made mud pies with me and my sisters when we were younger.”

Mud pies did sound familiar but that resurfacing memory fades when Charlie tells you that the truck is a gift for you and Bella. A homecoming gift.

**

Parking your truck in the student lot, you drum your fingers along the steering wheel. Bella in the passenger seat inhales deeply.

“We’ll get through this.” you remind her.

She looks at you with large, nervous eyes. When she was frightened, Bella always reminded you of Bambi. “Yeah. It’s just. . . the first day of school is always the worst. And we know absolutely no one here.”

“I know you.” You pipe in and it makes Bella smile if only a little bit. “That’s gotta be worth something. C’mon. Best we get acquainted with the school before the bell rings.”

Centering your courage, you tell yourself this was just another day at a high school that was like many others throughout the country.

After paying a visit to the school’s office to get your schedules, you and Bella hold them up to compare classes. Due to age you didn’t have any of the same classes together.

Too busy studying your piece of paper, you don’t notice the hurried footsteps rushing behind you.

“New girls!”

You jump, letting out a high pitch curse word. Bella holds her hand to her chest like she just experienced a heart attack. 

Thoroughly annoying both Swan sister was a kid closer to Bella’s age. His smile was friendly enough but you didn’t appreciate how he had snuck up on you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you guys!”

His name was Eric and turned out to be very insistent that he show you two around.

Reluctantly you go along with it, figuring no harm came from knowing at least one person.

Even though he was a tad annoying, Eric did prove to be a helpful guide.

You and Bella started your first few classes without a hitch.

At lunch, Bella introduced you to two more kids she had met in her gym class as well as a bubbly girl who blinded you by the pictures she took of you and your sister. 

You’d met a few of your same year classmates and found them agreeable. They must have liked you too because they did invite you to eat with them. You didn’t want to leave Bella by herself the first day though. Integration was not something Bella was keen on. 

In grade school you’d often be called in from your own class to help Bella calm down. It was safer just to make sure she was happily acclimated before you went off to do your own thing. 

You mind wanders as you pick at your food. Peers around talk of typical high school experiences and asked you about your school in Arizona. 

Jessica is chatting animatedly with Bella until the double doors of the cafeteria that led outside open.

Five of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen saunter inside like they own the damn place.

Painfully divine, their skin as smooth as porcelain and blemish free. Eyes painted in differing shades of golden honey. 

The first four were paired off, leaving the boy with bronze colored hair trailing behind them.

Even Bella couldn’t tear her eyes from them as Jessica tells both of you about the Cullens. Adopted by the local doctor and how infamously unobtainable Edward was.

Gorgeous they were, but there’s a coldness to them.

As if reading your thoughts, Edward’s eyes happen to single you out and stare. He reminded you of a predatory hawk with those intense irises that were so unusual. You’d never seen anyone with an eye color like that before. Like a polished piece of precious metal.

Eerily he grins at you before returning his attention to his adoptive siblings.

First one to get out, you wait for Bella in the truck as the last shriek of the bell rings through the air above the school. 

You spot her, a deep frown already on her face. When she gets in you ask what’s wrong. Of course she’s always reluctant to say right away what’s bothering her. Possibly taking after Charlie too much in that respect.

“That Edward guy is in my biology class.” She mumbles while buckling herself in. By her tone it didn’t sound like a good thing. “I had to sit next to him and. . . he was just really weird.”

“How so?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “He was making facing like I smelled.”

Leaning in, you give her a big sniff making Bella’s cheeks self consciously pinken. “You smell fine to me.”

That wasn’t enough to satisfy her though.

“Don’t worry about him.” You halfheartedly offer. “There’s clearly something wrong with him.”

Not until the next day would you have your own strange encounter with Edward Cullen.

Barely having just closed our locker, you jump when you see him standing there. At your bemused expression, Edward awkwardly smiles and leans against the lockers. “You’re (y/n) Swan.”

“And you’re Edward Cullen.” You raise a challenging brow. All last night Bella had been so concerned about how she smelled thanks to this guy.

The lightness of his smile dims and you notice how he appears to mentally back step as to not say anything stupid.

“Feels like I’m failing at that already.” He says under his breath.

“What?”

“Sorry.” He closes his pretty eyes that had pinned you in place. “I. . .”

Bella bounds over to you in a hurry, almost bumping into other students in the process. “Here (y/n)! I think I accidentally. . .” she notices Edward standing next to you “took your notebook. . .”

You see Bella shrink into herself as she hands you your notebook. Yup, it was your’s. Tattered and covered with sharpie doodles on the front. “Thanks Bells.”

Before things could get awkward, Edward immediately blurts “I”m sorry about yesterday. I was not quite feeling well that day before class.”

By Bella’s eyebrows creasing, you read that as Bella not quite buying his excuse. However she didn’t press and simply nods in acknowledgement. “I-It’s okay.”

Even you don’t necessarily buy it but at least he apologized. Now that the air was clear of that mess, you bid Edward a goodbye and tell Bella you’d see her at lunch.

Throughout the day though, you caught Edward staring at you. It always felt like he could read your mind because the moment you thought this creepy, he would avert his focus and look to somewhere else.

Following days, while you didn’t catch him staring at you, you would fel his nearness. You couldn’t say his attention was unwelcome. After all, he was incredibly good looking to an unbelievable degree.

Bella thought him weird, but she’d had a chip on her shoulder toward him since the first day.

Once in a while, she’d point out that the smallest of the Cullens, Alice, had been staring at you. Catching her doing this only once, Alice merely smiled at you unabashedly like you were a friend from long ago.

Stranger to come was when they actually start talking to you (besides the blondie Rosalie). A few words here and there. According to Jessica they never talk to anyone else outside of their family bubble.

A month passes and your new Forks routine finally feels normal and established. 

Bella tend to spend all of her free time in La Push with Jacob and his friends. You encourage this for it granted you precious time to yourself. For a few hours, the house was entirely your’s. You enjoy lounging in the living room, your books and papers scattered everywhere as you lazily “study” while simultaneously watching tv. 

A tickle along your neck alerted you to an unseen presence though. Apprehension pulls your face away from the screen and off to the side where the window was. While you weren’t completely sure, you thought you saw a flash of movement.

Incidences like that continued until March. 

Edward’s action became bolder toward you. Conversations lasting more than a few seconds. From bits and pieces you started to pick up on odd little quirks. Sometimes you were so sure that he could read your mind.

You found his awkwardness around you admittedly adorable. From the way Jessica had described him, you thought he was stuck up due to his good looks. Also you hadn’t forgotten how distant all the Cullens were to their peers. But he’d be a little tongue tied around you. Scrambling to come up with appropriate words. Amusing to watch him stumble over himself. 

Until he asked you out. On an actual date.

It could have been a prank. This wouldn’t be the first time someone asked you out for it to only be a joke. Of course this would cause you to be apprehensive.

“Now why would Edward Cullen want to go out on a date with the new girl?” You fold your arms in front of your chest.

Instead of being intimidated by your defensive stance, Edward smiles. “You make it sound like me liking you is impossible.”

“Ah, you like me.” Damn, your heart did flutter at that and there was a stupid smile that was trying to force your lips upward.

“I know I don’t know much about you. But I would like to.” Edward adds when he sensed your wavering skepticism. 

“Since when are you dating Edward Cullen?!” Bella slammed the door of the truck.

You have to mentally count now. “Well, it’s probably been a week now.” After your first date, during the time where Charlie and Bella were out of the house, you knew that there would be more dates to come. Never had you got along so well with anyone. There had been no awkward moments and the mere lulls in conversation had been neutral. One odd thing about it was that Edward had eaten so little of his food.

Her eyes are comically large with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. H-How-“

“Well I’ve finally had time to myself.” You shrug. “Figure that time would be better spent doing something that makes me happy.” Edward hadn’t been as odd as you initially expected him to be. Sure he spoke like an old timey gentleman. His speech pattern was eloquent, a lost talent among boys these days that utterly delighted you.

“(Y/n). . . I don’t trust him. . . Or the rest of his family for that fact.” She uncomfortably looks ahead, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Why’s that?”

She bites her bottom lip, a nasty habit she’d developed when she was in kindergarten. “There’s just something not right about them. Jake was telling me something about them. How they don’t go there due to a pact their ancestors made with his. They were called the Cold Ones.”

You wanted to laugh at her serious tone. That girl was reading too many supernatural romance books. “You realize how silly that sounds.”

“I’m being serious.”

Trying to focus on your driving, you only half listen to her. “So am I Bella.”

Edward asked you to the spring dance the very next day.

Come April, you and Edward would be together for nearly a month. Impressive in your eyes considering that this was your first real relationship. In that time, Edward invited you over to his house many times. You got to know the rest of the family. You didn’t want to pick favorites but Emmett and Alice definitely held a special place in your heart.

They took care of you when you were lonely or had been fighting with Bella and Charlie.

Dating Edward had suddenly become a fuse in your relationship with the both of them. Neither liked you dating a member of the Cullens. You didn’t understand. For Charlie it may have been a protective father thing, but you still didn’t know why Bella held on to her dislike of them so fervently. You wouldn’t take the story Jacob gave her as an excuse.

Esme especially became the caring mother you never had. She was patient and was good at listening to your problems, even giving you words of wisdom. You felt whole when you were with them.

This was something Charlie and Bella couldn’t comprehend.

**

“Bella?”

While that voice had never spoken to her before, Bella knew the owner.

She turned around to face the petite Alice who was like a real life pixie.

Her guard is put up immediately. The Cullens only ever spoke to her sister (y/n). This. . . This was new. They hadn’t even bothered looking her way. Not even when Edward would come up to her when Bella was there and just swoop in.

Alice smiles prettily. “I was wondering if we can talk? Just for a few minutes, I promise.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

The smaller girl doesn’t reply but looks around uncertainly. “I was hoping I can speak with you somewhere less crowded.”

Pursing her lips, the last thing she wanted to do was be alone with her. Still, it was better than for them to get odd looks.

Bella relented and followed Bella to an empty corridor where the janitor’s closet was tucked away.

Alice began immediately “This is going to sound crazy. I know it will. But I need you to understand something about your sister and Edward. I know their relationship must seem so out of the blue. And I know you don’t particularly like us. (Y/n) and Edward, they’re meant to be together.”

And (y/n) had told her that Jacob’s story had sounded silly. This was downright insane for Alice to be saying.

She had sparse time to wrap her head around it before Alice spoke again. “It’s a deeper connection than between a human male and female. They’re coming together was predestined.”

Now Bella couldn’t hold it in as she let out her laugh. She couldn’t help the giggles that rolled out of her.

A frown upon her lips, Alice stood there until Bella quieted down.

Wiping the small tears that had pricked at her eyes, Bella said “Yeah that does sound crazy. You sound crazy.”

“Bella-“

“Look,” Bella checks the time on her phone to make sure the bell wouldn’t ring anytime soon “you, Edward and your entire weird family need to leave us alone.”

**

The ride home that day was absolute shit.

You and Bella were screaming at one another as you tried not to let your rage translate to your driving. How dare she have the gull to tell you that you needed to stop seeing Edward. Stop running to his family. What Alice had said was weird, that was true, but Alice had always been a little weirder than the rest of her family. That’s what you liked most about Alice. She wouldn’t apologize for being different.

When you reach the house, you slam on your breaks and tell Bella to get out.

“This is my truck too!!” Bella yells at you, refusing to move.

“Isabella Marie Swan” you hiss and Bella freezes having heard that tone before. It was the one you used to scold her when she was being a naughty child “You are my sister and I love you, but you need to get the fuck out of this truck.”

Her eyes are filling with trembling tears as she looks at you with shock smacking her cheeks pink with indignation and hurt.

You glare at her using all of your built up resentment that you’d accumulated through the years. Having to put Bella before yourself. Really it wasn’t her fault. The fault lay on Renee, but the way Bella was acting right now made you furious.

Slowly, she puts her hand on the door handle and pushes it open. She slips out but makes sure to slam the door extra hard.

Not bothering to look back, you shift into reverse and peel out of there.

There was only one place you wanted to be right now. People who would understand you.

Vampire.

Now that was to be the shock of the day.

You stare at the broken blade of the butcher knife that Edward had used to demonstrate the strength of his skin. He even read your mind to the ‘t’.

“So. . . Mates?” You hesitantly bring up the catalyst to Edward telling you that he and the rest of his family were vampires. That was what Bella had said Alice called them.

Bashfully he grins. “Ah. . . Yeah. Vampires mate for life. And. . . Well, Alice can see the future. She saw a future with us together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Worry shines in his eyes. Would this be too much for you? The expression seemed to say.

Your head is buzzing and warm from all of this. So much had happened in just two hours that you were having a slow time at processing everything. This was a lot.

“Sorry to spring this all on you.” Edward sighs. “I’ve been thinking on how I would tell you. As you can see it’s not something I can tell just anyone. I was scared that you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you would feel our relationship forced.”

“It’s definitely a lot, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you.” You smile up at him and the break of relief on his face sends your own smile onto your lips.

He holds you to him and you return the embrace tenfold. The Cullens had been the best things to happen in your life. To know that you always belonged with them was enough to reinforce that thought.

“Is it too soon to say I love you?” He whispers against your temple.

“Not for us.”

May passed as did the spring dance where you and Edward had come to a certain agreement.

This agreement was discussed with the rest of the Cullens. Everyone was on board (of course again except for Rosalie).

Tension at the Swan household had been near suffocating. You had to be patient though.

The day of senior graduation wouldn’t be remembered for the event itself. It would always be remembered as the last day anyone saw you.

***

Three years.

That’s how long her sister had been missing.

Three years since the Cullens had been gone as well, their house lay vacant and empty. As if they had never lived there.

Charlie had exhausted all resources in trying to find (y/n).

Bella didn’t have it in her to leave the state for college. Not with Charlie still a mess. He cursed the Cullen name daily. People looked at them with pity.

She attended college via computer to be close to Charlie and keep an eye on him. In the meantime she’d picked up a job at the store Mike’s father owned. Decent money, enough to put her through school along with her scholarships.

Honestly, Bella wished she knew if her sister left on purpose or by force. Maybe that would lessen the hurt she left in her wake.

It was looking bleak though and nearly everyone stopped searching for her.

Huffing out a sigh, Bella runs her fingers through her hair in weariness and sets down her pencil. She couldn’t focus anymore. Not when the anniversary of (y/n)’s disappearance was one month away. It was like every day leading up to (y/n)’s senior graduation was being replayed in Bella’s dreams. The constant fighting and ensuing silence that followed were daily occurrences in those weeks. Bella had called (y/n) delusional. (Y/n) had called Bella an ungrateful brat.

So many words she wanted to take back but the damage was done.

The doorbell rings, calling Bella to attention and she sluggishly leaves her room to glide down the stairs. She opens the door and her heart nearly stops.

“(Y-y/n)?”

The person at her door looked so much like (y/n) except. . . Well, (y/n) wasn’t ugly, but she’d never been this beautiful. Her skin was stunning and seemed to glow. The best features of her face seemed to be enhanced in some way. Makeup maybe but Bella couldn’t say for sure.

What was absolutely different from (y/n) were the gold colored eyes. Cullen eyes.

Speaking of, Edward stood to the side of her looking the same as he did three years ago. His eyes matched (y/n)’s.

On (y/n)’s other side. . .

Bella had never seen this girl before. Eerily though she looked like both (y/n) and Edward mixed together but she was far too old to be their kid. No way. But. . . She had the color of what (y/n)’s eyes used to be. The warmest brown. Her fair skinned face is framed by Edward’s bronze ringlets.

“Hey. . .” (Y/n) tries to smile. “Please don’t freak out but can we come in?”

Dumbly, Bella stares and she vaguely remembers nodding her head before letting the three inside.

(Y/n)’s gold eyes move quickly around the house. “Wow. . . Still nothing has changed.” She murmured to herself.

It was like Bella was watching a ghost float down the hall to the living room. Edward and the unnamed girl following after her. The girl shot worrying looks over to Bella before following Edward.

Stiffly, Bella followed the procession into the living room and watched them sit down.

“You’re alive.”

(Y/n) grimaced and chooses her words carefully. “Yes. . . I. . . I’m so sorry Bella.

Bella looked at Edward. “You ran away with him.”

She nodded and Edward put a protective hand atop of (y/n)’s. Only then did Bella spot the gold band wrapped around (y/n)’s left ring finger.

Swallowing thickly, Bella looked at her older sister. “You eloped.” She corrected herself.

“Yes.” (Y/n) replied within a heartbeat. “I don’t regret the decision but I regret hurting you and Charlie. I should have left a note but I was so angry with the both of you. It was childish and I’m sorry if you and Charlie suffered.”

Both Edward and the young girl watch Bella carefully; gauging her reaction.

“And. . .” (Y/n) glanced at Edward who subtly nods “and I wanted to explain why I left and for you to meet our daughter, Nessa.”

**

Oh were you nervous.

You didn’t even think a vampire could feel this nervous.

If only you could read your sister better. Not even Edward could delve into her mind though.

This was bad. You knew coming had been a bad idea and that you may make things worse by telling her. But you couldn’t let go of the guilt with just up and leaving Bella. For the longest time you had watched over her. It felt weird to just abandon her. At the same time though, eloping with Edward had been something you really needed.

You’d married Edward immediately when you were deemed a safe distance away.

The life you had chosen was not what you had first anticipated.

From that first night of being physical with Edward, you became pregnant. He had planned to change you the very next day but now he couldn’t.

Everyone freaked out most certainly, but while the pregnancy was not the easiest, it definitely moved along quickly.

Early on you found how blood actually fed you and the fetus better than any human food. Great practice for what you would have to do once you were transformed. Edward had doubts of if you would survive. Alice’s sight was what gave you your calm. No matter what she still saw you in Edward’s future. As she did your daughter.

You couldn’t meet your daughter right away after her birth.

Once she’d been removed from you, Edward immediately changed you. This was all part of the plan. Everyone knew going into it that it would be unlikely for you to survive naturally. The only thing that would save you would be vampire venom.

Before your state got any weaker, Edward sunk his teeth into you.

You were born again into a sturdier body.

Your hybrid daughter, much like in the womb, grew fast but you noticed a decline in growth once her second birthday came around. Now she looked much like your frozen age of eighteen.

You knew she’d have an incredulous look when you introduced Nessa. It easily led into you explaining what had happened. You even used the same demonstration Edward had three years prior when telling you that he was a vampire. You’d buy Charlie a new knife to replace the broken one that bent against the force of your diamond strong skin. 

All the while, Bella was absolutely silent. She couldn’t take her eyes off of you or Nessa. Then after you’re done speaking, her focus turns to your husband and Bella’s brown eyes narrow. 

Wanting to erase that expression of deep bitterness that she shot Edward, you apologize once again for leaving. How many times had you apologized?

“You abandoned us for them. We thought. . . We were thinking the worst (y/n). All this time. . .” Bella’s eyes burned with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. Her bottom lip which she usually chewed when she was nervous trembled. While her and Charlie had been worried sick, (y/n) had become this monstrously beautiful creature. You could feel her emotions boiling over and you allow her to scald you. “And you waited three years to come back.”

“I had to get through the newborn phase.” Hastily you explain. “There was no way I could have seen you earlier. I needed. . . Needed to learn control over this new body of mine.”

You’re grateful that Edward keeps quiet but you could feel him stir beside you, not liking how you’re basically groveling with explanations with the hope that Bella would forgive you. He had warned you about this. About it being too much for Bella.

“Control.” Bella laughed at that making you inwardly flinch at the disdain dripping from her. “This is what you call control? Abandoning your family, leaving us in agony-”

“For the longest time I had to give up MY own happiness.” Instantly you snap, feeling heat rush through you although you knew that you couldn’t really get hot or cold. “I gave up my childhood to take care of not just you but freaking Renee too!! I wanted to be selfish for once in my life. And yes, it has made me beyond happy making a life with the Cullens and MY daughter.”

Never had you voiced your resentment of never having anything to yourself. Bella couldn’t have possibly known.

Now Bella’s narrowed eyes turn to Nessa who is staring wide eyed at her aunt. “And what about her? What kind of abomination is she? A mix of human and vampire? How could you bring such a monstrosity into this world?”

Abruptly, Edward stands. Unable to let her slander go on any further even as you grab at the sleeve of his shirt to pull him back down. Nessa’s face fell, her innocent eyes cloud with hurt making even you want to snap at your cruel sister. “She’s our daughter, Bella. She’s not a monster. She’s a beautiful, innocent child who deserves love and acceptance.”

From how fast he had stood, Bella had pressed herself into the couch; partially out of fear of what an enraged vampire would do.

Glancing at Nessa, you notice that Bella did seem to soften even if a little bit when she caught the hurt on Nessa’s face. 

Taking a deep breath, Bella pulls her back away from the couch cushion. Even if she hated you for leaving, she had no reason to hate your daughter. Something in her throat bobs with emotion. “I’m sorry Nessa. . . But I can’t condone any of this.” She goes back to you. “You ran off to live some happy little life while leaving Charlie and I to mourn. I’m sorry it was so terrible taking care of me that you felt you had to run away.”

“Bella-”

“I need all of you to get out before Charlie comes home. He. . . He can’t see you like this.” 

You don’t want to leave, not until Bella understood why you left but it was a losing battle as she could only focus on her hurt. 

Nessa grabs your hand and through her supernatural talent of conveying her thoughts and feelings, she sends you comforting waves of how you were still loved by her and the Cullens. That this didn’t have to be the end of it, but that it would be best to give your sister space.

Your Nessa had always been so smart beyond her years thanks to her accelerated brain. You squeeze her hand in your grip and nod.

Leaving made you feel like you had lost but it was the best thing to do right now and not push Bella. 

Edward kept his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he led you and Nessa back to his car.

“That could have gone so much worse.” You say once all of you return to the old Cullen house. Nessa had gone off to help Esme with cleaning up the place. They’d always loved their Forks home and were loathe to leave in the beginning. You promised Esme that all of you would return one day. 

Edward kisses your temple and hums. “Didn’t expect her to say those things about Nessa.” He was still upset at that. Nessa was a miracle and the family’s pride and joy. After giving birth to her, Rosalie even started to warm up toward you. 

You wished you had seen Charlie but Bella may have been right about it best that he didn’t see you so changed. Alice had given you contact lenses that matched your human color eyes but they irritated your eyes and would only last for an hour or two. 

“I did hurt them by leaving.” You mumble. “I know that. Is it bad that I don’t regret my actions though?” The fact that you hadn’t even left a note had bothered you the past three years. Instead you let Edward spirit you away in the dead of night where no prying eyes could see where you disappeared into.

“You did what you had to do to get freedom.” Edward coaxes you to the tarp covered couch and onto his lap so your head lay on his chest. He cradles you in his arms and holds you close to him. “We have Nessa now because of the decisions you made.”

Yes, you had your Nessa and a family that actually supported you instead of forcing so much responsibility on you. 

You were unarguably happier than before.

----

Tag:

@thedragonqueensblog​

[dragonsbluee]

Today in my brain:

Don't think about how April and the boys become Splinter's caretakers as he gets older. He's always been active, so it's a slower decline than most, but eventually, his body starts catching up with his age in more ways than just appearance.

Don't think about how Donnie and April research and make their home more accessible. Donnie builds mobility aids - a cane, a walker and braces so Splinter can get on and off his favourite couch on his own. A little robot that helps their dad carry things from place to place. April makes sure her first aid certification is always up to date, and learns as much as she can about caring for the elderly. She learns so she can spot symptoms as they appear.

Mikey starts being stricter about what they eat . He makes more pizzas from scratch, finds substitutes for Splinter's favourite snacks - and still keeps the junk food, but as a treat. The others are dragged in because there's no way he's cooking two meals, they all need to be healthier anyways, and they can't let dad feel alone!

Suddenly Leo is labeling everything! He has a system and of course it's colour coded. Leo ensures that Splinter is never left alone for too long. He starts creating shifts for patrols so someone is always nearby. The lair is no longer allowed to remain unclean for extended amounts of time, and they're always stocked with supplies.

Raph starts keeping track of doctor's appointments and schedules. He makes sure Splinter gets up and moves throughout the day, taking walks, even playing games with the others to keep his mind working. He encourages splinter to go to activities and make friends in the hidden city, anything really to keep him from always being cooped up in the lair.

It's not a perfect or easy reality. There are bad days when Splinter is stubborn or April and the boys get frustrated. They're still young, it's not going to happen perfectly, in fact it rarely does. They're becoming caretakers for thier dad, but they still need thier dad. They get into fights when the boys start making choices and changes. When Splinter's memory begins to fade, it upsets everyone and April forces everyone out to the rooftops at night for some fresh air and a much needed conversation.

There are still good moments too! Splinter may need to adjust, but he loves his children more than anything. So what if he can't spar with them anymore, he shows up to the next training session with score cards and ranks thier best moves mid fight. He calls out points and imitates the announcers from those boxing matches Raph loves so much.

He makes sure to spend time with all his kids individually, he leaves them little gifts, when he mixes up thier names they laugh at it more then they're upset about it. They make peace with it.

[indignantlemur]

Hi again! What do you think the cast would think of a rodeo?Like the different showes i.e. bull riding, calf roping, and barreling? What would andorain in general think of rodeos?

Hello!

So this is an interesting question, because by the time of Emigre and the early years of the United Coalition of Planets/Federation... these things wouldn't exist. Well, that is, they wouldn't be like they are now.

After Humans dropped warheads across the globe on major city centers, there was massive ecological die-off. About 30% of all life on the planet was wiped out, with significant human casualties and the extinction many species during the event and in the aftermath. The Human species as a whole experienced a high resource scarcity era and only clawed its way out of said era with the help of the Vulcans and their replicator technology.

With Vulcan aid came Vulcan influence. The meat industry, and indeed many of the animal industries, were fundamentally altered. Humans no longer consumed vast quantities of non-replicated meat - indeed with replicators in place the demand in some sectors disappeared almost overnight.

So in order to answer your question we kind of have to adjust what these events would actually look like in a post-scarcity era where non-replicated meat is a luxury item, rather than a major food source. We know that there are still farms and ranches on Earth throughout the various Star Trek series, and certainly throughout the Federation - particularly in regards to the edges of Federation space and new colonies. Horses and other livestock species appear to have survived the bombs, and those species have been so altered by Human efforts that they cannot survive without Human intervention; leaving them to the wilds that they can no longer naturally survive in would be negligent and senselessly wasteful at best.

However, since it no longer became necessary to maintain large herds of cattle for food security many years after First Contact, there would have been some changes. The market for trading and breeding cattle (and other livestock) would likely become significantly reduced, and a number of minor events which had taken on a cultural significance around herding and animal husbandry in the past might quietly die off over the ensuing years.

Now, that being said, the various rodeos and stampedes and other such gatherings are major cultural touchstones, particularly in North America (and the remains of North American post-war.) I don't think those would have entirely faded away but they would likely have been altered nonetheless. Events involving the deliberate aggravation or agitation of livestock (such as bull riding) would likely be replaced with versions involving mechanical substitutes, trading/auction markets would be smaller and more heavily regulated than they already are, and so on.

So now, with this context, we can look at your questions properly.

What would the cast of Emigre think of rodeos?

Dagmar never had much to do with rodeos, livestock, or farming in her time, and even less in the modern era. The closest she got was occasionally hunting deer, caribou, or elk with her father and younger brother, really (and one really bad hunting trip involving a mountain lion.) She was tangentially aware of events like the Calgary Stampede, but never had any interest in attending. This hasn't really changed in the modern era.

Shral and Thelen would regard them as novel events, of apparent cultural significance to Humans involving what must be traditional youthful displays of dexterity and temerity. Terran animals aren't especially fearsome by Andorian standards in terms of strength or natural armour, but only a fool underestimates what he does not understand. They'd partake in a rodeo or stampede event once or twice, perhaps, out of curiosity. (Dagmar spends a great deal of time fielding questions on the subject from these two, most of which she has to go and look up the answer to herself.)

Ambassador Thoris would find such events mildly entertaining, but ultimately not enough to fully engage his interest. If he wanted to wrangle a dangerous animal for fun, he'd go hunt more veeg. Still, there's merit to taking the time to observe and understand such gatherings and their significance to Humans as a foreign ambassador. He might inquire as to historical facts, socioeconomic relevance, and so on. On a good day, he might even deign to compliment a particularly skilled participant. He can understand and value the cultivation of fast reflexes and keen hand-eye coordination that these activities require as well as base strength and agility well enough, but the proceedings are somewhat dull to him after the first viewing. He's a one-time visitor.

Vrath would most likely be trying her hand at mechanical calf roping the moment Dagmar took her eyes off her, and generally having a good time of it.

As for a general opinion from Andorians on the subject? It's a very Human thing. Novel and entertaining, but ultimately largely of interest only to those Andorians who handle livestock and animal husbandry. There's not much in common between Terran and Andorian livestock species, biologically speaking, but somehow Andorian ranchers still find enough common ground with Human ranchers to spark lively debates and very intense conversations over herd management and predation.

Cheers!

[auxiliarydetective]

Evie my love!! From the newest part of your ask extravaganza (the chaos corner), could I please ask for numbers one, three, five, and eight for dear Varsha??

Thanks in advance, and I hope you’re doing well, lovely!! 🩷🩷🩷

Oooooh, lovely! Chaos asks, my beloved! Thanks so much for this! Beware for spoilers to Varsha's fic which will hopefully be posted soon!

1. What's an animatic about your OC or OTP you've been spinning around your brain?

It's an angsty one with a happy ending. I can't, for the life of me, remember the song I had in mind for it (I'm thinking maybe it was a Pentatonix song) but I do know the story. Basically, it's about Varsha's immortality and her inevitably outliving the rest of the League, including Henry. The animatic would be a compilation of Varsha through the ages, starting off with the picture of all the League members together and each of them fading one by one, starting with Gray and ending with Mina. We get a shot of Varsha at Henry's death bed, crying as Henry reminds her of her own belief of reincarnation and making the promise of returning to her one day. He gives her his pocket watch to seal that promise. The background fades to black and Henry's hand around hers disappears, starting the "through the ages" sequence. We see Varsha as a combat nurse at first, sort of as a way to picture her clinging on to Henry's legacy. Then, we go through the decades, Varsha's expression constantly mellow and melancholic, eyes closed, the chain of the pocket watch always somehow visible. Maybe, a soft ticking is layered over the music. Throughout time, she faces multiple difficulties but takes them with no change to her expression. Then, faint lines become visible in the background and the perspective changes to show she's at some sort of party or gathering. Her eyes are still closed until someone calls her name. She turns around to see Henry standing there, looking just like he did all those years ago when they met, except he's evolved with the times. And the first thing he says is "I missed you."

3. Create some memes about your OC and their story

5. What would your OC's Tumblr blog be like?

She would probably have a turquoise-y theme, maybe with gold accents. Posts would be about sea travel, pictures of special or historical maps and lots and lots of of Indian/Hindi culture. Reblogs memes about the Queen's death and generally shitting on the British monarchy from Skinner's blog because she's still salty about their whole empire business with India. Constantly in Henry's ask box. Strongly supports Sawyer's travel blog. Her avatar is probably a picture of her snake form. It has people asking about her "cool pet snake". I'm a bit clueless on what her url would be. Maybe sanskrit-snake, sweetest-sea-serpent or something.

8. What are some TV Tropes that apply to your OC or OTP?

Parental Substitute for Varsha and Nemo

Elective Mute, Making a Splash, Sssssnake Talk for Varsha herself

Forbidden Love and Beast and Beauty for Varsha and Henry/Edward

[adhdnursegoat]

Episode 10

Word count: 6.5K

Content Warning: none

Pairing: Edward Nashton X OC Romy Winslow

Setting: Pre-Arkham Origins; 2013

Ao3 link here!

─── [ sequence: loading ] ───

Wednesday, February 13th, 2013

Ever since that night, Edward had been meticulously careful to keep his composure, as if each interaction with Romy was a test of his restraint. He was determined to act as though she was merely a colleague, someone he tolerated out of necessity. He’d built his life on keeping others at a safe distance, and he wasn’t about to let her change that—not so easily, anyway. 

But for all his efforts, he found himself slipping. There were moments when he leaned in a little closer than he should, listening intently, letting himself linger in the smooth cadence of her voice, watching the way her eyes glinted when she recounted a story or delivered one of her clever innuendos. He told himself it was nothing, that he was merely indulging her for the sake of decorum.

The realization dawned on him slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, each day revealing a new piece that settled into place. It had been a little over a month since Romy joined him in the cluttered confines of the Cyber Crime Division, now nearing the ides of February. What started as routine had shifted into something more—he’d begun joining her for coffee breaks, those brief escapes that he once dismissed as meaningless. Taking a break from his work was something he used to scoff at, deeming it an unnecessary interruption, an indulgence for those who had no purpose. But now, with her, the idea didn’t seem trivial at all. In fact, he found himself looking forward to it—these small walks from his office to the breakroom and back, a routine that had quietly taken root in his life.

Each time he accompanied her, he felt the subtle thrill of the familiar: the soft, rhythmic click of her heels against the black and white linoleum, the way she reached for the same brand of coffee each time, her careful, deliberate addition of sugar substitute to her otherwise black brew. There was a quiet comfort in the ritual, a steadiness he hadn’t expected to find. It amazed him how something so small, so seemingly inconsequential, could make his day feel… lighter. The moments he spent in her company had become a refuge, a space outside his meticulously ordered life that, for the first time, felt worth the disruption.

Romy, with her effortless confidence and that sly, knowing smile, seemed to sense the shift as well, though she was far too clever to say anything. Instead, she let the silence settle between them, an unspoken invitation that he found himself wanting to accept. She let him fumble through the newness of this unfamiliar territory, meeting his gaze over the rim of her tumbler with that knowing look that always made his pulse quicken. He was used to holding all the power, to having control over every detail, every reaction. But something about her gaze disarmed him—the playful way she challenged him, as if she already saw past his defenses.

In the past few weeks, he often found himself reminded that Romy understood more than he was ready to admit—that she saw something he’d never let anyone else see. 

And despite himself, Edward found that he craved it.

The GCPD break room wasn’t exactly a refuge. It was cramped, outdated, and perpetually underlit, the dingy fluorescent lights casting an unnatural pallor over everything. Mismatched chairs surrounded a scratched-up metal table in the center, where an ancient coffee machine sat, sputtering and coughing as if each cup was its last. Faded linoleum tiles covered the floor, sticky in patches where countless spills had left their mark. Old posters on the walls peeled at the edges, offering half-hearted reminders about teamwork and accountability—words that felt as grimy as the surroundings. The faint, lingering smell of burnt coffee and stale donuts clung to the yellowed plaster walls, mingling with the unmistakable scent of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Not exactly the ideal spot for a budding—what is this?—acquaintanceship.

Today was one of those rare moments when he felt completely at ease, engaging with her on topics far removed from work. He was learning more about her, each story, each detail making him want to uncover more. He wanted to know her favorite color, her favorite food, whether she was a morning or night person, her favorite book. Did she like puzzles? Would she do a crossword with him? And what about her plans after graduation—would she stay at the GCPD, work freelance, or did she have bigger ambitions, maybe even the FBI or CIA, or some privatized company? 

All these questions simmered in his mind, and he realized that he’d only find the answers by talking to her, listening, and absorbing every piece of information she let slip.

“You’ve gotten into fights before?” He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like the poised little princess I know.”

“You still don’t know me very well, Mr. Nashton,” Romy chuckled, leaning back against the counter, her pink tumbler in hand. “But, yes, I have. One of my so-called ‘friends’ in high school decided it’d be fun to fuck my boyfriend, and when she wouldn’t stop running her mouth, I had to put the bitch down.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Because she slept with him? Wasn’t he equally to blame?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She squinted as if reconsidering the memory, then clicked her tongue with a smirk. “In hindsight, I should’ve beaten his ass first. It wasn’t all her fault, after all.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “My, my, I didn’t peg you for such a little hellion.”

She shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Eh, I was a good girl for the most part. Never got in trouble usually, although I probably should have. My clean record saved my ass on numerous occasions—until it didn’t.” She didn’t linger on the last part. She didn’t have to. Moving on, she chuckled and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder. “But, I’ve grown—evolved. Learned several lessons since then.” He laughed when she raised her chin in mock pride. “I’ve realized good girls get good things.”

“Good girls get good things,” he repeated, as if savoring the words, tasting them on his tongue. His eyes narrowed. “I have a hard time believing you’re a good girl all the time.”

There was a playful glint in her eye, and her lips curved in a way that made his pulse skip. “Mr. Nashton, you’d be right to doubt,” she replied, a wink punctuating her words.

Edward lifted his tumbler in a vain attempt to mask the faint warmth blooming in his cheeks. The smirk tugging at his mouth, though, was uncontainable. “And what else did you learn?” He took a sip of coffee.

She paused, tilting her head slightly as if pondering her answer, and then gave him a mischievous smile, her gaze locking onto his with undeniable confidence.

“To not get caught.”

The sly grin and gleam in her eye did something to him.

She was unlike anything he’d encountered—a study in contradictions: polished yet unrestrained, poised but playful, clever and silly, good and—apparently—oh so bad. The confidence she exuded, the way she played with him, it all left him feeling just a little off-balance. For a man accustomed to holding control over every interaction, every outcome, it was both maddening and electrifying to be on the receiving end of her gaze, to find himself the subject of her little games.

Thankfully, the door to the break room swung open, sparing Edward from having to respond to her cheeky remark.

“Nashton,” a gruff voice called. “There you are.”

Detective Harvey Bullock’s large form loomed in the doorway, a figure as solid as his reputation for bulldozing through anyone or anything in his path. Bullock was a bull of a man, towering and broad-shouldered, his weight unapologetically filling the room. Despite his heft, there was a rugged stability in the way he carried himself, like a brick wall that’d grown comfortable being immovable. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, glancing at Edward with thinly veiled judgment. “Didn’t think you were one for slacking off.”

Hia gaze sharpened behind his glasses, and he opened his mouth to respond—but Romy beat him to it.

“Taking a break isn’t slacking off, Detective.” Her voice was steady, a touch defiant. “Especially not when it is well deserved.”

Edward’s mouth snapped shut. He glanced at Romy, intrigued. She leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, legs crossed in front of her with an air of casual confidence in opposition to Bullock’s tense, hunched stance. Her expression was relaxed, eyes half-lidded but sharp, meeting the detectives gaze with a coolness that was rare in this building, especially from someone in her lower-than-low position.

The seasoned detective stepped into the room, making the space feel even smaller, and Detective Jim Gordon trailed in behind him, giving Edward a sympathetic, almost apologetic glance.

Bullock’s attention shifted back to Edward, disregarding Romy as he jerked a thumb in her direction. “You’d better get a hold on your girl, Nashton,” he growled, his scruffy upper lip curling in irritation. “She’s gettin’ a little big for her breeches.”

Again, before Edward could respond, Romy was already there, smiling with a sweetness that was as sharp as a knife’s edge. It was as interesting as it was annoying. “From the looks of it, Detective, you’re one to talk.” She took a sip of her coffee, unflinching.

To be honest, Edward felt an undeniable flicker of amusement, a part of him wanting to grin at her boldness. But he knew better—this wasn’t the place, nor the time, and Bullock wasn’t the type to appreciate backtalk. 

“Romy,” Edward called, tone sharp and clipped, and the effect was immediate. Her eyes snapped to his, attentive and uncharacteristically wide. “Enough.”

He didn’t miss the subtle transformation that occurred in her—how her casual defiance evaporated in an instant. Her relaxed posture straightened, shoulders tightening, and a faint pink rose to her cheeks. It was almost imperceptible, but he caught it, along with the way her teeth grazed her lower lip.

She nodded, her voice softened, obedience infused in the words. “Yes, sir.”

For a beat, he held her gaze, both making his point and assessing her reaction. He raised a subtle brow.

 There was something electric in her compliance, something quite intriguing. The flush on her cheeks, the way she stilled, that trace of submission—it stirred a curiosity in him, one that settled deeper—and lower—than he’d like to admit. And though he’d never say it, he liked seeing this shift, this reaction he could draw out of her. It was the first time he felt he’d gotten the upper hand.

Yet another contradiction: so dominant yet submissive all the same.

Edward cleared his throat, setting aside the flicker of distraction as he shifted his attention back to the other men. “What do you want, detectives?” His voice was cool, almost dismissive, as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms with a self-assured authority, coffee still in hand. “I assume you, in recognizing my unparalleled brilliance, need my expertise.”

It wasn’t often that Bullock and Gordon sought him out, and although he could do without Bullock’s gruff, brutish presence, Edward couldn’t help but feel a surge of interest. These impromptu requests usually meant there was a case, and a case always promised a puzzle—a mystery he could unravel.

Bullock’s grumbling expression suggested he’d rather be anywhere else, but Gordon, ever the professional, didn’t miss a beat. He possessed a calm, composed demeanor that contrasted with his partner’s brusque exterior—and interior, for that matter. Edward had a certain tolerance for Gordon; unlike Bullock, he valued results and didn’t waste time doubting Edward’s capabilities. From under his arm, Gordon drew out a manila folder, extending it to Edward with a firm but polite nod.

“Need your help. Figured this might be your area of expertise.”

Edward raised a brow. Setting his coffee aside, he took the folder, flicking it open with a flicker of anticipation. His eyes scanned the contents rapidly, absorbing details in seconds. It was a murder case, but one small detail grabbed his attention: something found on a victim, scrawled with an unusual string of digits: 044809111. There was something calculated about the sequence—something deliberate in its structure that hinted at a hidden meaning.

His gaze sharpened as he considered the possibilities. The numbers could be anything—a bank account, an access code, an encryption key, an IP address, or a ciphered message left behind to indicate something larger. The lack of context left him with little more than instinct to work from, but his instincts were often uncannily accurate. There was a pattern here, a hidden code waiting to be deciphered, and he was confident he could uncover it.

“Interesting,” he murmured, a trace of anticipation in his voice as he studied the pages. He could feel the familiar thrill of a challenge beginning to stir, the same spark he felt whenever he sensed there was something important lurking beneath the surface. 

When closing the folder, he glanced up and handed it to Romy for review. He was acutely aware when her fingertips and nails seemed to caress the back of his hand in the exchange. He flinched, stiffening, and his lips tightened just a tad. His eyes flitted to hers briefly, noting the near imperceptible narrowing of her gaze and tilt of her head. It took all his power to mask the shiver that slithered down his spine and curled in his pelvis.

Not now.

He rolled his shoulders, straightened up a little more, and shifted in his spot against the cracked and stained seafoam countertop. Edward addressed the detectives in a smooth voice, “I’ll need more access to any devices recovered from the scene, all digital files associated with the victim, plus network permissions.”

Bullock grunted, casting him a skeptical look, but Gordon remained steady, offering Edward a nod. “Whatever you need, Mr. Nashton.”

“How long?” Bullock grumbled, impatience clear in his voice.

Edward contemplated the timeline, flipping through the mental checklist of tasks that would need to be handled with precision. Normally, analyzing something like this of unknown origin could take days of uninterrupted focus, possibly even a week if he had to wade through multiple layers of encryption. But he glanced toward Romy, noticing the way she’d settled back against the counter, coffee in hand, twirling a strand of hair with that telltale focus on him.

While she couldn’t exactly match his speed, her work—though meticulous to a fault—was reliable. Her perfectionism had a knack for unearthing details, even if he sometimes had to wait for her to catch up. She’d proven capable of managing routine tasks that would otherwise chip away at his time: cross-referencing data points, isolating patterns in sequence analysis, even creating clean logs of findings as they came up. Even if her pace slowed him down in places, her assistance meant he could focus on higher-level analysis, confident she’d handle the smaller elements to his standards.

He turned back to Bullock and Gordon, letting their anticipation simmer, enjoying the moment as he measured his response. He could feel Bullock’s irritation simmering, the detective’s patience thinning by the second. With a smirk that was equal parts arrogance and relish, Edward finally spoke.

“Lucky for you both, I am efficient, efficacious, and expeditious,” he declared, each word practically dripping with smug superiority. “Something as simple as this is child’s play for someone like me. You were right to come to me.” He tilted his head, savoring the sharp look Bullock threw his way. “It seems you two might actually have enough brain cells to rub together for more thoughts than I previously thought possible. Pleasantly surprising, really.”

“Nashton,” Bullock gritted out, his voice taut with barely restrained annoyance, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he was holding back a choice retort.

Edward rolled his eyes, his smirk faltering just slightly before settling back into place. “Fine. Give us the next few days,” he said, gesturing to Romy with a slight nod in her direction. “I’m not even sure yet what we’re getting into, but I’ll have a full analysis in your hands by Friday afternoon. So unless you plan to micromanage, I suggest you let us work.”

He sent one last satisfied glance at the two detectives. He reveled in Bullock’s barely concealed frustration, the man’s features taut as though he was swallowing down a string of expletives. Edward clutched his coffee, turned to Romy, and took the folder she flicked out to him, tucking it under his arm. “Let’s go.”

Obedient, Romy fell in step beside him, her presence as steady and composed as ever, hair fluttering in dynamic motion. Edward paused to open the door, holding it just long enough for her to pass through before following her out of the dingy breakroom. The cloying scent of stale coffee and burnt toast faded into the inherent musk of the GCPD.

They made their way down the hall, and he let his stride fall slightly behind hers, observing as she reached into her dress pocket to retrieve her phone. Her gaze drifted to the screen, her expression one of blasé focus as she scrolled through what he assumed were messages waiting to be answered. He often wondered who she texted with such ease, who commanded her attention. She said she didn’t have a significant other, but that thought didn’t entirely soothe him. Just because she wasn’t attached didn’t mean she wasn’t ‘talking’ to someone else.

The idea nagged at him, an unwelcome twist in his gut that he couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t like the thought of her sharing this side of herself with anyone but him—the casual way she scrolled, typed, and responded without a second thought. It was irrational, of course, but the knot in his stomach tightened all the same, and he squinted at the thought, his mind conjuring up a vague, faceless figure who might be occupying her attention outside of work.

She was focused on her phone, typing with a practiced, one-handed ease that spoke to how natural this was for her. He watched, noticing the light clicking of her acrylic nails against the screen—a sound that, strangely, hadn’t become a terrible nuisance. It was like a subtle background rhythm to her life. He wondered if those messages were filled with the same wit and quick responses she used with him or if they were even a bit more personal, a bit softer. He had a difficult time imagining her being soft.

For a moment, he considered making a comment, perhaps a teasing remark—something that might nudge her to tell him who was on the other end of those messages. But he held back, lips pressed together as he fought the impulse. Deep down, he recognized a reluctance to know—a reluctance that bordered on unease. If she were to name the person, to confirm there was someone else occupying her thoughts outside of this place, outside of him, it would be a situation he couldn’t control. And control was something Edward had always taken as a given in his life. It was a foundation, a lifeline. The idea of losing even a fragment of it gnawed at him.

It was irrational; he knew this. But the feeling persisted, insistent and clawing. There was an irritation that rose in him when he pictured her laughing, texting, or even just sitting in the company of other people—even those who were nothing more than platonic friends. It unsettled him, this unfamiliar sense of possessiveness. He’d never felt it for another person before. The closest he could name it was greed, a sheer, unbridled greed to have her all to himself—without interruptions, without the presence of others.

And yet, for what? A working relationship? An acquaintanceship? Maybe—dare he think it—a friendship? But he refused to acknowledge the possibility of anything beyond that. He knew better than to entertain the final ‘ship,’ the one that tempted him with a territory of closeness he’d never permitted himself to explore. So he buried it, leaving it to wallow in a corner of his mind.

As they continued walking through to the bullpen, a realization hit him, sudden and vivid. He was aware of the way others looked at her—the way they always looked at her. It was something he’d noticed increasingly since the two of them started spending more time together. She was a magnet in motion, effortlessly pulling attention from the room without so much as a word. Passing a few desks, he noted the heads that turned to follow her, eyes tracing the path she made as she moved down the hall, completely unbothered by the attention.

It was subtle, most of it. A few glances exchanged among officers, a whispered comment he didn’t quite catch. But some of the gazes lingered, watching with something far from innocent admiration. He felt a flash of irritation, a sharp pang of something almost territorial, as he noticed a couple of younger detectives exchanging grins, their eyes flickering toward her with a look that made his blood run a degree hotter.

Romy, for her part, seemed utterly indifferent, her focus glued to her phone, fingers tapping with that familiar ease. It was as if she were above it all, unaffected by the attention, and in a way, that only made her more captivating. He was both envious and protective, his emotions knotting into a complex mess he could hardly name. That invisible pull she had, that allure she seemed to exude without even trying, drew him in as much as it frustrated him.

Edward’s jaw ached as he caught a particularly bold stare from a passing officer who looked back to gaze at her ass, eyeing the line of her figure with an audacity that made something hot and unpleasant coil deep in his belly, infectious and insidious. His gaze flickered toward her, watching to see if she’d noticed, if she cared.

But she remained utterly composed, oblivious or indifferent—it was hard to tell with her, given the perpetual calm she carried. She was sipping her coffee, scrolling idly, each step graceful, entirely unconcerned with anything or anyone around her.

It was her coolness that fascinated him most—the way she moved through the world with an aura that seemed to ward off trivialities, yet somehow drew everyone in. He realized, with admiration and possessiveness he hadn’t anticipated, that she was above their attention, beyond the reach of these idle stares and murmurs.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the quiet spell, and muttered, “I assume you’re aware of… the focus you seem to be pulling...” It was meant to sound dismissive, casual, but he couldn’t help the edge in his tone, the way the words came out a bit tighter than he intended.

She glanced back at him, a perfectly plucked eyebrow raising slightly. “Why, Mr. Nashton,” she replied, voice lilting with mock surprise, “is that a touch of jealousy I hear?”

Edward’s scoff came quickly, his chin lifting with an almost haughty air. “Jealousy?” he repeated, the idea itself laughable. “Please, don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’m merely pointing out that you seem to be quite the distraction for some of these reptilian-brained buffoons.”

She turned, walking backward with an easy grace—a feat in those heels that didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Sounds like a them problem.” She flashed him a knowing smile, shrugging one shoulder. “I can’t help that I’m nice to look at.” And with that, she pivoted smoothly, turning to stride up the few steps to the landing with an air of unshakable confidence.

He caught up to her at his office door, where she was waiting with that same cool indifference, tucking her phone away into the pocket of her tailored black pinafore dress, the color stark against her crisp white button-up underneath.

Without a word, she handed him her pink tumbler, and he took it in his free hand, folder still under his arm, and his tumbler in his other hand.  He raised a brow at the unexpected gesture. But before he could form a response, she stepped closer, her gaze fixed on him with that mischievous gleam that sent a jolt through him. He drew in a sharp inhale as her lithe hands lifted to his tie, deft fingers adjusting it with an ease that spoke to her knack for detail. His pulse raced, his body tensing as her hands smoothed over his chest, gliding to his shoulders. The touch was casual but still too intimate for their preceptor and preceptee relationship.

Oh, we’re touching now?

That was something Edward had come to notice more and more since that night out with Romy. She had grown bolder in her invasion of his personal space. The first time she got close, it had been practical—he gave her his scarf. The second time, right before she got into the cab, she had returned it. He had brushed that off as necessity, coupled with her gentle inebriation. But since then, it had begun happening more and more at work, often in subtle ways: the brush of her fingers against his when trading folders and paperwork, or passing him a cup of coffee.

But this. This was different.

Especially when she leaned in as if to whisper a secret with that shady look in her eyes. Her voice, soft and low, came close to his ear. “By the way,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin, “I’m not the only one they’re looking at…”

Edward’s breath hitched, a shiver shooting down his spine as he processed her words, lingering in her proximity longer than he should. Just as he began to form a response, her periwinkle acrylic nails grazed his chest in a brief, tantalizing scratch downward before she withdrew, reclaiming her tumbler with a smile that left him speechless. She stepped back, casting him one final, playful wink before slipping into his workspace.

He paused, his face drawn into a tight expression before glancing over his shoulder—and, indeed, he found half the precinct’s eyes glued to the two of them, curiosity and whispers already flying. His jaw clenched, a scowl crossing his face as he felt the heat of their stares. 

Usually, the attention wouldn’t bother him. Usually, he would revel in it. But this… something about it, the way it seemed conspiratorial, prickled his skin.

With a grimace, he stepped into his office and shut the door behind him with more force than he intended, sealing the two of them off from the prying eyes beyond. 

Why did he feel so hot?

Once inside, he took a moment, fingers twitching at his sides, wanting to curl up, to hit something, to throw something, to just grab something and squeeze—someone.

He flicked his eyes to Romy, watching as she stood next to the small work area she had claimed for herself. She stood, spine erect, shifting on her heels as she looked at her phone once more. Her fingers typed a message, nails clicking against the screen in rapid succession. She smirked.

(Who is she talking to?)

His gaze narrowed as he leaned against the door.

Just as she slid her phone into her purse, she glanced at him over her shoulder, holding her head in that poised way that made her silhouette seem statuesque.

She apparently noticed something; her lips twitched in that frustrating way that set his skin aflame. It was her tell. It happened when she thought she could read him. He did not like it. He wasn’t used to being toyed with, and her constant teasing, smirks, and newfound touch were driving him up the wall.

“Something wrong, Mr. Nashton?”

Edward frowned. He adjusted his mouth, trying to shape his tongue to form the words he wanted to say. “They think we’re together.” His voice was tight, even to his own ears.

Watching her with a keen eye, he noted how she turned to face him fully, her gaze easy, her shoulders adjusting as she held her head higher. In pride, maybe?

“We both know we’re not…”

His jaw tightened.

She was right… But for some reason, the fact that she confirmed it tasted bitter on his tongue. Now he wasn’t sure what he was so angry about. Was it that people thought they were together or the sore fact that she confirmed what they both already knew—that they weren’t? Either way, the idea that the precinct thought they were together, that they had some connection beyond professional, made him feel exposed, vulnerable.

Edward pushed himself from the door and made his way toward her with the intent of returning to his desk. “It’s the optics of it… You’re a student.” He walk to the front of his desk and set down the tumbler with a stiff clank and the folder with a careless flop.

But, seeming prepared for the conversation, she leaned against the side of his desk, looking completely unbothered by the situation. 

Always so unbothered, isn’t she? 

“And…? Just because I’m a student doesn’t mean I’m fucking my teacher.” She drummed her nails on the desk beside her hips, acrylics clicking a frustrating rhythm that grated against his current inflammatory condition. “The evidence is circumstantial—gossip fodder at most.”

Those fucking nails.

As Edward moved past her to round his desk, he stopped, suddenly unable to let it go any further. The combination of her words, the situation, and those annoying nails seemed to be the last straw. In a sharp, unplanned movement, his hands snapped forward, gripping her wrists with a firmness that halted the rhythmic drumming cold. His palms pressed down over her knuckles, stilling the motion as his brow knit into a deep, piercing scowl.

“They don’t need any more reason to think that, do they?” he hissed. The frustration in his tone was undeniable, his grip tightening just enough to drive the point home. “I don’t need rumors flying around that I’m sleeping with a student I’m supposed to be training. It’s not good for my reputation.”

He expected the tension of his grip, his narrowed gaze, the tone of his voice to finally deter her, to communicate his annoyance and put an end to this maddening back-and-forth. But instead, he felt her subtly flex her wrists, testing his hold—almost challenging him. A faint smirk curled at the corner of her lips, a look of satisfaction lighting up her eyes as though being caught in this exact position was precisely what she wanted.

“By all accounts, it might just be what your reputation needs…,” she murmured, the words soft but provocative. “Maybe them thinking you’ve bagged the young, hot student isn’t a bad thing, Mr. Nashton…”

Edward gritted his teeth, forcing his gaze to stay locked with hers, fighting the temptation to look at the way her body fit so perfectly between him and the desk. But looking into her eyes, with her half-lidded, unflinching gaze, proved almost worse. There was something intensely personal about it, something that challenged the very control he prided himself on. She wasn’t just pushing his buttons; she was leaning into his space, daring him to acknowledge a tension he’d tried to ignore.

A flash of anger and something far more complicated flickered across his mind. She wasn’t wrong. Edward couldn’t deny the truth in her words, no matter how they irritated him. Maybe a rumor like that could shift how others saw him, bolster his reputation among the precinct, making him seem less of an outsider, more like one of them. 

But it infuriated him that he would even have to consider it, that his intelligence alone wasn’t enough to command respect. It angered him that his reputation rested on social perception, something he’d always believed was beneath him. And now, here she was, a willing participant in a hypothetical he’d been forced to entertain.

Everyone seemed hell-bent on testing his patience, pushing him to the edge of his composure. But no one—no one—had managed to test it quite like Romy. She, with her endless provocations, the way she poked at his every nerve in one way or another.

“You’re a little brat, you know that?” he muttered, his voice dropping to a growl as he glared down at her, hoping the warning was enough to make her back off. But the way her eyes slightly widened with excitement made him think otherwise. “Always testing and pushing my buttons.”

She didn’t back down; if anything, his words seemed to amuse her. Edward felt a shift and watched as she tilted her chin up defiantly, meeting his gaze with that same maddening confidence that both irritated and captivated him. He caught a faint glint of something in her gaze.

Then, Romy arched her body, a subtle movement that made his pulse skip as he realized just how close they both are. He still gripped her wrists, his hold meant to keep her in check, but instead, it anchored her as her body curved closer to his.

“It’s what I’m good at, Mr. Nashton, sir.”

The words, the respectful title uttered in such a mocking tone, sent a spark through him that was impossible to ignore. There was a dare in her gaze. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening around her wrists as he fought to keep his expression unreadable, but he was sure the warmth in his cheeks betrayed him.

The way she looked right now. The way she looked at him. The way she seemed unfazed by the situation, by being in his grasp. The way she seemed to revel in everything made his cock throb. It made him want to throw her on this desk, shove her dress above her hips, pull her panties to the side, sheath himself inside her, and fuck her within an inch of her life. He wanted to make her beg for him, to scream and whimper his name. He wanted to show her and everyone else that he should not be fucked with.

This. This was what he’d been fighting against, this maddening, undeniable, carnal attraction that she seemed to stoke with every glance, every smirk, every casual disregard for the boundaries he tried to set. Romy was playing a dangerous game, pushing him toward a line he knew he shouldn’t cross, yet couldn’t seem to step back from.

Then, for some reason, a thought scratched at the back of his conscience: “Pinned to the desk.”

For a brief, uncomfortable moment, his vision blurred, and it was as if he were seeing the scene of her assault as her court case described, a memory he couldn’t erase. His chest tightened, his pulse spiked, and suddenly the warmth of her skin beneath his hands was too much—burning. Almost reflexively, he jerked his hands away, as though scorched. He took a sharp, silent breath, forcing himself back to the present, but he couldn’t shake the sick twist in his gut, an aching throb in his viscera.

Romy blinked, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and he caught a flicker of confusion in her eyes. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t accustomed to seeing in her—a shadow of unguarded surprise behind the usual smolder, as if the sudden break in contact had caught her off-guard. The expression in her eyes shifted, softening in a way that made something stir in him, made his hands clench by his sides. Then her lips curved downward into a pout—a real one, absent of the usual bravado and playful edge that always threw him off. It was subtle, but it twisted something in him, settling like an ache somewhere deep in his chest.

He couldn’t look at her. His gaze wavered, his pulse thrumming too hard, and he turned, feigning the need to adjust his glasses as he forced his thoughts back into their usual logical channels. 

The idea that anyone would hurt her like that, take advantage of her… it was more than unsettling. It felt like a weight pressing against his lungs, a painful reminder that this situation was quickly shifting beyond his control. He wasn’t supposed to care, not like this. He’d always kept his interests clinical, intellectual, observed from a safe, untouchable distance.

But with Romy…

Edward inhaled slowly, the breath a touch unsteady, his fingers curling into fists before he caught himself. When he exhaled, it was a low, restrained sigh, and he ran a hand through his hair, an attempt to steady himself, to silence the chaotic mess of feelings spiraling within him. He cast her a final, hazy glance, feeling the tight clench of his jaw as he wrestled down the thoughts lingering on the edges of his mind.

“We have work to do.”

Edward lowered himself into his chair, the safety of his desk providing a boundary he so desperately needed between them. He hoped the distraction of work would ground him, but the memory of her wrists beneath his hands and the brief flicker in her gaze refused to fade. It was irrational, frustrating, and he knew it.

Across from him, Romy sank into her chair with a soft sigh, her expression smooth and untroubled, as if the entire exchange had meant nothing. She opened her laptop with practiced ease, her gaze steady and expressionless as she typed in her login. If there was any residual tension, any trace of the exchange that had just occurred, she certainly wasn’t showing it. Instead, she sat poised and indifferent, her attention fully on her screen. For a second, he felt almost irritated by how quickly she seemed to brush it all aside, as if it were just another moment in her day, unworthy of any further thought.

He forced his own attention back to his setup, though his fingers hesitated over the keys, his thoughts drifting despite his best efforts. Romy appeared so calm, so unaffected, as though she had already compartmentalized the encounter, boxed it away with that effortless neutrality she wore so often. It was almost infuriating, the way she slipped into this mask with such ease, denying him even a hint of vulnerability.

Inhaling deeply, he forced his focus back to his work, busying himself with logging in and accessing his programs. He wasn’t supposed to let himself get distracted, certainly not by someone so apparently unperturbed. But the ease with which she had set it aside, the way she sat across from him without a hint of tension, was something he couldn’t shake.

As he typed, as he focused on the new case at hand, he told himself he wouldn’t let himself get drawn in that close again…

…

…

“Oh, btdubs,” she drawled. Her irreverent slang him grimace, though he let her continue nonetheless. “I’ll need your help tomorrow. It’ll only take about twenty minutes.” Romy gave a little shrug as if it were no big deal. “Figured we could do it during lunch.”

He continued typing, not looking at her. “And what exactly are we doing?”

“Helping Kristen decorate for Valentine’s Day.”

Edward Nashton stopped typing and looked at her. “What?”

[pr1ncesspopstar]

Become the Wind - FFXIV Write - Day 21: Shade

Ao3

-

Halditar had to resist every urge in her body that morning to roll over and fade back into a peaceful slumber.

Faint blue light glanced against Halditar’s lids that morning, heralding the Warrior of Light awake with bird song and the fading coldness of night. She forced her lids to crack open, taking several seconds to let her blurry vision adjust and take in the frumpled state of her bedsheets and bangs hanging just within her vision. Rainbow light painted the floor from the stained glass window, decorated with droplets of rain and condensation from the showering rain the night before. It wouldn’t last long though, that had been promised. The first day of summer was upon them after all, nothing but puffy white clouds and a warm sun as far as the cloudwatchers could tell.

With far too much effort for a warrior of her renown, she had to peel herself up and off the bed to get started. Given pause by something holding her left arm down, tightly wrapped in a warmth the downy comforter simply could provide. She cast a quick squint to her side, confusion melting into a warm comfort.

G’raha was all but wrapped around her arm, curled into it as a substitute for being unable to cuddle into her side this night. His grip was tight, certainly nothing she could slip out of without waking the poor miqo’te. Though he didn’t snore, she could feel the faintest vibrations of purring against her forearm held so firmly to his chest. She could even feel his claws digging into her skin, leaving marks that would probably take the day to fade.

She held back a laugh, grabbing her glasses so she didn’t have to admire his sleeping face through blurred vision alone. His hair was all kinds of fluffed up and his breath hot and heavy upon her skin. She didn’t know when he joined her bed, already asleep while he was still awake and researching magicks. Regardless, the last thing she wanted to do was to wake him. Thankfully, she had a trick for freeing herself from her partner’s grasp.

With her free hand she reached down and brushed one of his ears. Getting a few seconds to admire how soft the fur and skin was before it twitched away from her touch. He rolled over, burying his head and ears into the pillow to protect them, freeing her.

Halditar didn’t waste any time, throwing a robe over her bare torso and baggy sleep pants and descended into one of her domains, the kitchen. Some fruit and yogurt was breakfast enough, especially since she didn’t want to wake G’raha up with the sound of loud cooking or the smells of some heart spread. It’d ruin the surprise if he saw what she was making, after all.

The crafter set to work, and within minutes had enough food to feed a normal adventurer for a full day. Quiche, egg and chicken sandwiches, fig pita bread and feta cheese, a summer salad with a dressing of fresh olive oil and so much more. The creation she was most excited for was the cupcakes she made. They seemed a touch boring on the outside, lacking frosting that would have been smeared everywhere had she decorated the top with it. Which was exactly the reason she filled the center of the cupcakes with the sugary confection instead. A simple change, but one she was sure G’raha would be quite happy about.

‘As if he doesn’t appreciate everything I do already.’ She couldn’t help but think, chuckling lowly.

She was not oblivious to the man’s bordering hero-worship of her, nor was she unfamiliar with it. It was plain to see how tirelessly he worked to compliment her fighting style. Initially as a healer, expecting a raging dragoon when he summoned her to the first. Becoming a tank that could ease her burdens as a healer and keep the party from much harm. It was admirable and impressive how fluid he had been working with her, supporting her and the other scions.

And that was where he had intended to stay, as a support and nothing more. A fate Halditar refused to allow a man that gave so much, and was twice the hero she was in many ways with so much still ahead of him in her mind. Had he not been so convinced to follow, she might have dragged him alongside her by force. To stand in the light with her, not in her shadow. And what a reward it was to bask in G’raha Tia’s own glow, as little he believed he gave off.

“Oh! I could have helped with all that, you know?” The man in question’s voice made Halditar perk up, shoving the picnic basket’s lid closed with a good shove as she turned to face him. His hair was still so fluffy looking, and his pupils were wide and round with such warmth as he tread down the stairs.

“And risk all the ingredients I was so careful to gather? Perish the thought.” she teased, leaning way down to sneak a kiss.

His laugh tickled her lips, before pursing back. Soft, tasting faintly still of sleep and coffee that had no doubt sustained him the night before. His hands reached up to hold onto her shoulders, asking her to stay a few moments longer. She obliged, letting him savor the chaste kiss as long as he wanted, before he was finally satisfied.

“I meant with breakfast, at least. Let me brew our tea and coffee.” G’raha wandered to the familiar kettles, one copper and one silver they used for their respective drinks. Haldi followed, moving to the ice box and pulling from it more fruit and yogurt.

“And I’ll peel and mix these up, should have a bowl ready for you by the time you’re done.” a confirming grunt given, she set to work.

Within minutes, the two were enjoying their morning time together at the table, G’raha going between his breakfast and packing his bag while Halditar braided her hair into it’s usual ‘do while waiting for the tea to cool. Beyond the wooden walls of their home the sound of birds and other animals were coming to life, the forests of Sharlayan rife with all types of fauna and even flora no doubt eager to welcome the short season of warmth to come with song. Halditar could already feel her skin prickling in anticipation, eager to delve into the woods and find whatever lay beyond the tree’s veil and jagged rocky outcrops behind their house. To observe each bird, to feel the soft earth beneath each footstep… 

And of course, doing so hand in hand with her sweetheart only made it more exciting. She glanced at the man in question. He was oblivious to her stare, ear flat against his skull, spoon hung out of downturned mouth as he was searching for something in his bag. Her chest tightened. She had to admit she would get distracted taking in a sight of something other than the environment this trip.

“I’m going to get changed,” she excused herself. A hum of ‘okay’ followed, as she rushed up the stairs both to get ready, and hide the dopey grin and blush coming onto her face as the weight of her affection for G’raha settled heavy on her heart once more. Overwhelming her want and excitement she couldn’t help but feel shy over.

She dressed in garments a bit lighter than her usual, accounting for their trip and the heat of the day. G’raha wasn’t far behind, turning his back to her to scour his dresser for his outfit after stripping down to small clothes. She turned to leave, give him privacy and tie her boots on, giving pause only as an idea came to mind seeing his bare shoulders and back in the corner of her eye.

She snuck behind and pressed her lips into the crook of his shoulder and neck. G’raha gasped, a shiver rolling through his body that buffeted the skin she gently nuzzled. The faint scent of parchment and cedar and musk was a calming one, finally forcing her cheeks to turn over a new shade of pink. She didn't even think about or why as she opened her mouth and nipped down on the skin lightly. Not enough to mark, but enough to let her taste and feel how smooth it was. She could feel the blood rushing up to his face, heating her lips as she let go and moved on. Unable to hold back a cheeky grin as his old shirt hit her in the back of her head on the way out, and G'raha was unable to hide the happiness in his voice as he shouted her name.

With her boots on, she waited outside. The air was somewhere between crisp and muggy, a faint haze of water vapor clinging to the air just above the earth as the sun finally breached the treeline above. The grass was still shiny with a layer of dew and rain, but that would be gone in less than an hour, she was certain. The stone walkways around the house were already dry from the building heat, and she swore she could see puddles shrink before her eyes. She took in a long breath, savoring the lingering notes of ozone and vegetation. What a good day it would be.

“Pardon the delay, someone might have distracted me and made me forget where I laid my staff for a spell…” Halditar rose to greet G’raha as he joined him. He wore his usual outfit sans the layers, leaving only the baggy gray shirt she was familiar with. A wise move to account for the heat.

“Well, shame on them, truly!” She grimmed, enjoying the annoyance he couldn’t hide with his ear stiffening and tail flicks. But that could hardly sour the mood, that smile returning as she gave him the okay, “Lead the way, dear boy.”

They both found the forests of the Sharlayan islands to be familiar in surface appearance only. Halditar could not help but liken the way the trees towers and hills rolled, finding little caves in their nooks and crannies to the way the woods were always painted in fairytale books, even the most dangerous had an edge of beauty. G’raha said it was theorized such lush forests came from the fact the Sharlayan islands had been a great mountain range before the Sixth Umbral Calamity drowned them, rich with minerals and aether that made life thrive. Considering all seen in Aetherfont, she was inclined to agree with him, stopping every so often to let her inner botanist and miner obsess over the occasional stone or plant of particular interest. At times she worried she was speaking too much, but any time she glanced at him mid discussion, her worries were eased as their eyes met and she felt a flow between them.

“Think you’d like to take any of these to grow back the house?” G’raha asked as they pulled away from a small collection of forget-me-nots that were a mix of blue and white on the same stem, a rare hybrid.

“None of the flowers, but have been keeping an eye out for a tree,” She admitted, kicking a pinecone ahead into the underbush. “I want to make sure we get one that’s native, don’t want to go unsetting the spirits after all.”

“Of course. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find one as we wander.”

She hummed in agreement with his hope, tracing one hand along the rough bark of the passing trees and soft leaves, while the other held the miqo’tes hand, palm to palm. Her entire fist could have held both of his hands in truth, a fact that every time it was remembered she squeezed with affection, appreciating the size difference between them once more.

Between the green canopy beams of golden sun shot through and danced upon the forest floor. When it hit their skin it was more than warm, heat promised as soon as they entered an area with less trees. Conscious of the rising sun she kept her eyes peeled, searching for a spot perfect for them to settle and give her arms a moment to rest from carrying their things. Before them a hill rose, trees thinning as they took large steps  to scale it’s surface. She pulled ahead, longer legs providing an advantage, but not once did she loosen her hold on G’raha, helping to pull him up and find his footing step by step.

Piercing over the hilltop gave a sight for sore eyes and weary legs. Beyond a sharp decline was a flat swathe of land, dotted with tall, moss covered stones and a few trees scattered about, a collection of them near the center. Halditar’s nose twitched, the faintest whiff of charcoal lingering on the air.

“It’s a dead volcano…” She observed, looking down to see small blackened pebbles at her feet, magma reduced to rock. There was no sense of fire aether anywhere, just strong earth, a hint of wind and water. This certainly lended to the Sharlayan Isles being mountains once upon a time.

“Incredible…! I wonder if anyone knows this is here! If we’re the first to discover this, I can’t wait to write about it.” G’raha raced ahead, sliding down the steep ledge with his cat-like grace, all but skipping into the field of wildgrass. Halditar took a more careful approach, aware of the fragile foods in the basket as she took it step by step.

“We’ll have to think of a good name then, if it’s a new landmark,” she pointed out, remaining still as G’raha raced up to rifle through her bag at her side, no doubt looking for his journals and pen. She looked around, gazing upon the yellow-green grass and bright-colored blooms, radiant in the summer sun. “The ‘Amber Grove’ maybe…? Shite, I can’t think of any sort of good name on the fly with an empty stomach.”

She patted G’raha on the head, pulling him out of the researcher headspace he was already getting lost in as he began to scribble in his books. “I’m going to go set up underneath those trees. Come find me when you’re ready.”

“Alright, love.” he took the chance to grab and kiss her palm before she pulled away, making her steps feel slow with a want to stay as she wandered to the collection of trees.

It was a few small, thin things, barely a few years old and singular, tower giant willow. It was impossible to not recognize the tree for what it was, ancient. It had outlived many calamities, and could have outlived many more if the gnarled knots and healed over scars upon its bark skin. It’s branches so many it created a perfect blanket of shade for her to lay out the sheet she had bought for them to sit on. She kicked off her shoes to let them breathe, and unpacked their plates and meal options. Stifling a laugh as not too long, after G’raha came jogging. The smell of food was too enticing for the miqo’tes eager stomach, as she expected.

“Seems we’ll have a lot of leftovers.” his eyes were sparkling as he looked over the dishes she pulled from the basket. Halditar refrained from comment, knowing that would not be the case. If her appetite was healthy, G’raha could be voracious.

While Halditar wouldn’t say she outdid herself with the cooking, nothing had tasted this good in a long time. Slices of the quiche was savory and hearty with the added bits of meat and a little green onion. The egg and chicken sandwich had a sharp bite of vinegar, salt, pepper, and few greens to mellow everything out. The salad filled the space between, but ensured there was just enough room left over for cupcakes. Red velvet and cream cheese icing tucked away the meal with great satisfaction for the both of them. Though for Halditar it was not because of the meal itself, but seeing and hearing G’raha’s delight with each new thing he ate. What wasn’t directly said was shown with his ear wriggles and tail swaying and curling. Halditar wouldn’t hesitate to admit it was a sweeter sight for her than any dessert she could have whipped together.

“Now, all I wish to do is nap the whole day away.” G’raha patted his stomach with a yawn and leaned back, the old body of the willow tree serving so kindly as a rest to lean against.

Oftentimes, she saw him as older than he looked. But in this moment, so peaceful and content, G’raha Tia seemed his age, a boy just a year younger than her. Her dearest boy, whom she loved to watch and admire. To praise as he deserved to be and help grow, be who he wanted to be. Honored that a part of that involved being at her side, waking her up each morning with his purrs and a cup of tea to his coffee, and joining her every adventure they could spare together.

She joined him in laying out, but not against the tree. She removed her glasses and tucked them away carefully. Without having to worry about them breaking, she was free to boldly lay her head on his lap. His thighs were warm, just a touch firm with muscle as she nuzzled into the space between his legs. That wonderful scent filled her nose, familiar and stronger than when she teased him this morning, flaring as she opened her eyes and looked up to see a faint red color on his cheeks.

“Considering how much you like to lay on me, it’s only fair I get to lay on you a few times, yeah?” She asked. Her vision was still good enough to see his face clearly, surprise melting into a wide, bashful grin as he just nodded.

The peace was wonderful to bask in. Halditar closed her eyes, letting her senses focus on the things around her. The faint sound of the wind and wildlife meshing with the sound of her love's heartbeat pounding beneath the fabric, his breath a metronome she used to count with and clear her mind of all thoughts. The smell of the woods, clean and crisp mixed with freshly washed laundry and that soap they shared. He wore it so much nicer than she did.

“You’re a great pillow.” she told him. His laugh danced around her. Not too long after, the feeling of his claws scratched her scalp, and tangled into her mane of hair. His thumb stroked her fiery locks with such gentleness, as if she were some delicate girl and not a warrior that had traversed time and space. Something about the thought of butterflies tickled her stomach.

“Not as good as you.”

“I find that hard to believe, I’m mostly muscle.”

“Please, there's plenty of you that’s soft.”

“Oh yeah?” She cracked an eye open, smirk gracing her features. His eyes were half-lidded, so happy looking she almost felt bad for breaking the tender moment. “Which parts?”

The pink on his face became brighter, but he only laughed and brushed some bangs from her face. His clawed nail grazed and charted the curve of eyebrow as it brushed over, eyes refusing to move from her face. At times she felt like one of the books he read so voraciously, trying to soak in all the information he could. She would never admit it to his face, but it was a wonderful feeling.

“I’ll show you when we return home.”

“Promise?” she asked, reaching around to stroke his tail. It twitched and puffed up in response to the affection, friendly and eager for such affections.

“Promise.” He assured her, and started to lean over.

Though the intent to press a kiss to her temple was obvious, she couldn’t resist turning her head to snag his lips against hers. Though the taste of icing was still lingering on their lips, the flavor beneath interested the roegadyn far more. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, and beckoned him to meet her. His greeting was fierce, entwining together with an oft subdued passion she was happy to take. She met back with the same force, gentler and smoother. His hand on the back of her head kept her in place, desperate not to keep her in place, but to ensure she wouldn’t be ripped away. Halditar allowed him that possessiveness, the sharp nails digging into the back of her head leaving marks she loved as much as the ones left upon her arm this morning. They were interrupted only by G’raha need for air, their noses still nuzzled close as he gasped.

“I love you.” His words were quick, and jumbled and sudden, but they held the same weight in Halditar’s heart every time, from the first to the last. A feeling that wrapped itself around her and she was eager to carry and cherish, for it gave her strength and sense like no other.

“Love you, too.” she promised back, delivering an innocent kiss to his lips once more before burying her head in his lap, both to hide her own warm face and keep him here, with her, as long as she could.

Together they stayed until the shade melted with the evening shadows, returning home with talks of dinner and a small cutting of willow tree carefully stored away in Halditar’s botanist bag.

[withinstarrynightskies]

[ || Everything According to Plan || ]

Nezuko Kamado

GENERAL INFORMATION Name: Nezuko Kamado Pronouns: she/he/they. Age: Chronologically 14, actually 12 Height: 5'2" / 153 cm Birthday: December 28th Appearance:

Her eyes are pink, fading out just along the rims of her irises, pupils cat-like. He adorns a light pink kimono with a hemp leaf pattern held by a red and white-checkered hanhaba obi with an orange-threaded obijime and a green obiage. Over this is a simple black haori that reaches her calves, as well as a pair of zöri with pink straps and white tabi socks, wrapped with thick pieces of black material resembling kyahan. On her mouth is a bamboo muzzle. Their skin is also dark.

PERSONALITY. A human turned demon, kindness lost to the cruel hands of fate. As a human, the second eldest child was extremely kind and caring; like a parent to her younger siblings, putting their needs before her own. He is also protective of those he cares about, shielding those he cares about from harm with his own body. However, turning into a demon changed them. Nezuko, using sleep as a substitute for human meat, has too much brain fog in her mind, clouding the memories of her life when she was human- as well as turning words spoken to the demon into static. Nezuko could translate them, but it takes too much energy and time; so they prefer to speak in gestures and hums. The protective nature they once had as a human is still there as a demon, immediately getting furious at the notion of those close to him getting hurt in any way, shape, or form.

ABILITIES. Due to using sleep as a way to replace human meat, Nezuko has many characteristics and abilities that are different than most demons. Kick. Nezuko usually uses their legs in a fight, but they do have a blood demon art- However, it makes the demon extremely sleepy, so they only use it for extreme situations. Blood Demon Art: Exploding Blood. Nezuko's blood combusts into pink-colored flames at will, which have a special property that makes it only harmful to demons and objects of demon origin while being completely harmless to humans. Abnormal Demon Physiology. Nezuko has an extraordinary growth rate, as shown multiple times when she grows stronger without any training or consuming humans. This ability is shown to trigger even in the midst of battle and with huge power boosts. Some day, this growth of strength might go too far. Advanced Demon Form. When she feels as if someone close to her might be dying, Nezuko transforms into a demonic state, with all of her abilities enhanced to the max. Their regenerative abilities become on par with those of the Upper Ranks of the Twelve Moons. However, she becomes almost feral in battle, losing her usual restraint to human blood. Sunlight Immunity. Eventually, Nezuko manages to develop an immunity to sunlight, allowing her to be active within the sun.

STATISTICS. Strength: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ Stamina: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Speed: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Durability: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ Intelligence: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

SIDE NOTE. Nezuko is agender!! I also do not wanna romantically ship her unless she's human.

Information is subject to change

[givemeyourbonesandorgans]

[ || Everything According to Plan || ]

Nezuko Kamado

A human once turned demon, kindness lost to the cruel hands of fate.

As a human, the second eldest child was extremely kind and caring; like a parent to her younger siblings, putting their needs before her own. He is also protective of those he cares about, shielding those he cares about from harm with his own body.

However, turning into a demon changed them.

Nezuko, using sleep as a substitute for human meat, has too much brain fog in her mind, clouding the memories of her life when she was human- as well as turning words spoken to the demon into static. Nezuko could translate them, but it takes too much energy and time; so they prefer to speak in gestures and hums.

For more than half of the day, the demon is asleep in the box made for him, strapped onto her brother’s back. Nezuko is usually sleeping, regaining energy and healing any wounds he might have gotten from previous missions her demon slayer of a brother was on.

The protective nature they once had as a human is still there as a demon, immediately getting furious at the notion of those close to him getting hurt in any way, shape, or form.

One day, this might go out of hand; a long horn sprouting from their head, muscles becoming too big, vine-like patterns crawling up their skin, and strength equal to an upper moon…

Nezuko’s height fluctuates, as she’s able to control her size at will- but her default height is 5’2”. Her hair is black, reaching just below her waist; three bows decorating the mass of black. Her eyes are pink, fading out just along the rims of her irises, pupils cat-like.

He adorns a light pink kimono with a hemp leaf pattern, held by a red and white-checkered hanhaba obi with an orange-threaded obijime and a green obiage. Over this is a simple black haori that reaches her calves, as well as a pair of zōri with pink straps and white tabi socks, wrapped with thick pieces of black material resembling kyahan. On her mouth is a bamboo muzzle.

Nezuko usually uses their legs in a fight, but they do have a blood demon art- However, it makes the demon extremely sleepy, so they only use it for extreme situations.

Blood Demon Art: Exploding Blood. Nezuko’s blood combusts into pink-colored flames at will, which have a special property that makes it only harmful to demons and objects of demon origin while being completely harmless to humans.

Information is subject to change

[sassooda]

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 88 - This Must Be Love 🔞

w/c - 7,436

               “What is in here?!” Hiromi huffs as he levies the large 4ft tall box labeled Mindray across the lab. He grunts when he works both sides to maneuver it into the corner, backing it in one swiveled scoot at a time. Unbuttoning his blazer, he doffs it and sets it aside as managing the heat from his efforts have become his new task.

               Shoko didn’t even hear him and is instead, dwelling on the new emptiness regarding her sacred space. Yes, it’s organized and ready for some samples and although this productive activity distracted her mind, the fact remains now that she doesn’t know enough. Her desperation to make sense of the turned has become chaotically revised as the situation now clutches Nanami’s fate as well. Her agony takes form of a silent tear as it rushes from her lashes, down her cheek.

               Hiromi gathers a few smaller items that he was charged with putting away but as they were cleaning up, he gathered everything in one place prior to storing them in the closet. He’s not sure how to address Shoko’s mood switch, he doesn’t know where the line is drawn or begins. While contemplating on the best course of action, he mindlessly carries an armful of boxes over to the storage area and opens it. His eyes unfasten.

               Ieiri snaps out of her mind when Hiromi shouts and crashes to the floor, “What the hell?”, she asks as she turns.

               Hiromi hasn’t any words immediately but his eyes are trained to the blood-spattered wing vertically occupying space that blocks the shelves behind it.

               “Oh that!”, Shoko nearly slurs from being intoxicated, “Getou took that from Elska a long time ago…”. Shoko’s eyes instinctively train to the medical table as she remembers Gojo being strapped to it, emotionally broken.

               Scuddling to a stand, Hiromi’s gaze never leaves the gored metal feathers as he envisions the pain caused by the removal. Dried, shriveled flesh clings to the base, appearing as if it would break away to dust if moved. For a moment, his heart sympathizes for the blood shaman woman, imagining how horrible of an experience it must have been.

               “Her composition has changed since so this wing no longer vies as a suitable source of information.”, Shoko helps brush off Hiromi’s sweat dampened work shirt, “But it was once the key for creating the blood substitutions.”. She walks over to the nearly empty case of beer and cracks two open for them, kindly handing one to Hiromi, “I can work magic as long as I have the ingredients before me!”.

               “You created that?!”, his eyes widen with amazement. When word traveled through the ranks that such a concoction was finalized, every higher up felt various waves of unease. Elska, though originally thought as this world’s saving grace against Gojo has been slowly dividing the elders. Even the dullest of high-ranking shaman understand that their entire plan to build her as the ultimate weapon against Satoru will never come to fruition. Some want to work with Elska, choosing to have faith in their relationship and wanting to nurture and mold them into possibly fine allies. Others, on the more extreme opposing side find her and the other blood shamans’ demise mandatory. ‘To think that she is the one that single-handedly cracked the elder’s security…’, he tells himself while studying Shoko. Confliction should have been his middle name.

               “Yep!”, she retorts proudly, “One of my greatest discoveries…”. Her cheerfulness fades though as she orients herself to the Mindray box, containing the ultra sound machine. Would she be able to bear Kento’s children if they so please to go that route? Is it possible? Does she stand a chance against whatever hold Elska has on him? Ieiri’s presence drops as she considers all of the unknown factors but snaps out of it and shakes her head with, “There are more questions than answers which means there’s nothing to celebrate.”. She listens to Hiromi’s approaching footsteps, “And at least Kento didn’t have to bond with her.”. That indeed is a fact that keeps her going. There’s still hope.

               Hiromi feels like he just got sucker punched as her words saunter through the air, ‘She doesn’t know?!’. Suddenly, the room feels smaller, his chest heavier as the duty to pull her out of the dark arises. He lays his broken eyes to Shoko and though he tried to hide his pity, it peered through.

               She says nothing but has to catch her breath, her worst fears coming to life in the wordless expression of his eyes, “Right?!”

               Hiromi turns his head away but walks closer to her. She asks for clarification again but he simply cannot bring himself to say it and instead, hugs her as her body begins to shake and lower to the ground. He bends his knees, offering to be her support as he silently consoles and provides the refuge she’s in need of against the stark tile. He doesn’t need to speak one way or another and it seems like an effective method of delivery as Shoko trembles and cries to the ungiven news. “I’m sorry…”, quietly flows out of him.

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               Suguru tucks his face into the back of the couch while the splashing from Elska’s shower resounds through the room. He’s peeked over to see Choso a few times and is further unnerved with how the being stoically stands, watching over the turned in the bed. ‘What’s his deal?’, he wonders uncomfortably as he sighs and shudders to recent memories the question sent flashing through his mind. ‘So…fucking…gross…’, the grimace webs his face as he snarls under his breath.

               “You needn’t be afraid of me.”, is all Choso says in absence of turning around to address the elephant in the room, “I am on your side.”. A sarcastic chuckle rumbles out of the Titer’s throat but Choso was expecting Getou’s disinclination and knows he’ll come around. His current fascination is how incredibly malevolent the turneds’ energy is becoming. They all carry an air of darkness from simply undergoing the DNA synthesis already but this latest evolution will over shadow their previous submersion into wickedness for they will all harness much more of himself. Choso’s eyes widen and light up wonderfully when he notices Gojo’s hair slowly bleaching to become more alabaster than silver and proudly muses, “The strongest indeed.”.

               “What did you do with Choso?”.

               Choso finally peels his eyes away from the turned to allow them to befall to Getou, to which they narrow.

               Jumping on the defensive, Suguru goes to sit up but is motioned to wait by the being.

               “I am still me…”, Choso lets out a small whine, “I remember everything that’s happened between us. My brothers, me melting your brain…”, he softens his eyes, “…The day I realized that you didn’t slay my family in cold blood.”. He’s glad to see that Suguru seems to believe him, and he should because it’s all true. He is still Choso.

               Getou felt and heard the genuinely given statements and is struck with something so bizarre. ‘Could it really be him?’, he dares to ask himself as the being’s presence is certainly mirroring the thing from the Final Stage. Somewhere deep down, even buried under the doubts, Suguru feels a wave of relief. He knows that regardless of whatever happened to Choso, the powerful hybrid’s loyalty to Elska remains unwavering, something that eases his worries over prospective outcomes. He witnesses Choso spin around towards the west wall and smile.

               ‘Temujin Genghis…’, Choso smirks, ‘Your plan has backfired, has it not?’. How entertaining. Amnessia is currently reeling from the previously overwritten memories of her on Gaia, where she was born. The man that owned her worked directly under the King’s brother, which is how Temujin crossed paths with her. Choso appreciates the part of Genghis that rejects his master’s, the King’s sister’s, wishes. Amnessia is special too, in a vastly different way than the turned but even better, Genghis refusing to kill her as his master requested, is evidence. This is proof that even though Gaia’s turned were not bitten by Elska, they will hold a small definitive reluctance to obey if it’s to oppose Mictlantecuhtli because every single one of them is ultimately born of Mictlantecuhtli’s essence and he wishes for her success. He’s always marked the humans as being irrational with their wars, but for a turned such as Genghis to initiate the same? Flaws. Mictlantecuhtli doesn’t care for defective creations and this is why he considers those on Gaia to be far lesser than Elska. Amnessia’s current predicament is exactly why the Titer’s refrained from rewriting Elska’s memories a second time, they just didn’t understand and were right to be hesitant.

               They saw through their water viewing technique that tampering a second time would lead Elska to a destructive path and this is accurate. Had the Titers tried to manipulate her memories again, just like Amnessia, the previous rewrite would become null and void. This would have caused Elska to lash out violently due to her time spent under Gojo’s torturous ways. Those memories would return but her then the currently growing affections towards those in her life at that time would be erased. She wouldn’t have remembered those she came to care for but only the horrors endured on this strange planet and would have been driven to a frightful, devastating madness. With her instinctual and fully unleashed fury through all of this, she would have devastated everything. ‘Imprudent humans.’, Choso notes as the Titers will not find out about the whole, ‘One memory rewrite at a time’ rule until Amnessia brings it to light, which she will. Very entertaining.

               ‘Amnessia…’, Choso says internally. She is a rare case in regards to Mictlantecuhtli as she is a human but he’s volunteered his protection concerning her. His smile fades as he briefly permits the burdens of her family’s past to flood through him. They were all humans, her people. Gaia has tribes that are similar to the status of clans on Earth and other than his own flesh such as the turned, there’s no aberration from the human form there. Mictlantecuhtli always despised the idea of homo sapiens ever since their design became a thought but unlike other ignorant, greed-filled humans who all eventually forgot about Mictlantecuhtli and other relics, Amnessia’s tribe at least paid tribute to him. They were the least foul of the two-legged, spine derived creatures that infested that planet like roaches. “Memoriam”, he whispers her tribe’s name as if to pay reverence to the people of her line that at least asked forgiveness for existing. Memoriam also bore the weight of repenting for all human sin. Mictlantecuhtli found them respectable, worthy, as their ritualistic practices were intended for the betterment of the future. They were selfless. After the tragedies that befell her people because of his own plots, paths that were necessary to take, he vowed to watch over her and the other survivors, and he still does. She is here on Elska’s side for this very reason. Amnessia is the daughter of the good-natured humans that governed Memoriam and one day, the young woman will discover her true name.

               Elska steps out of the shower, blushing to the less neat black set that adorns the bathroom floor with frazzled, fuzzy lace. Briefly reliving the recent sexual escapade, she moans under her breath and runs her hands over the places Choso and Suguru once held. She’s capsized by happiness with having both of them back and releases all of the tolling fears that have been replaced by effulgence. As she dries herself, her gaze aims mindlessly as images of all her beloveds flash behind her eyes. She’s eager to hear Toji’s voice again, to feel the rumbling of Naoya’s laughter and to console her sweet Satoru. Wrapping herself in the black silk robe, she exits the steamy room and suffers chills as the temperature blends and cold air rushes past her.

               Suguru’s head lifts when she enters and has to calm himself from the sight of her radiance. He watches Choso walk up to her and pouts his lips in distrust, ‘This fucking guy…’.

               Choso merely stares at her with a smile, his arms automatically opening like there’s a sensor where her feet have reached. She shivers against him so he assures, “Naoya will order for that wall to be put back up in the morning.”, and closes his eyes as he holds her preciously. He knows there’re other responsibilities before him but is gratefully enjoying a few moments of pure elation.

               Elska hears Suguru shifting so she peers around her hybrid and asks, “There’s plenty of room on the bed, why don’t you come over here?”. She knew the likelihood of his refusing but had to at least try the offer as his long legs fold in order to belong, “That can’t be comfortable!”.

               Getou lies back down, rather exhausted, “I appreciate your gesture little one but I’m afraid I must decline. I prefer to have a little head start in case Zenin wakes up and is unenthusiastic to seeing my face.”. He chuckles through the statement for the sake of lightheartedness but in no way, shape or form is he joking. He settles back into the cushions and balls up in protest to the winter chill.

               “I guess I understand…”, Elska sighs defeatedly. She longs for the day when her turned finally accept each other but figures that may not be so far away. ‘They’re back…’, she reminds herself, smiling to how that’s good enough for now. She looks from her curled up Titer back to Choso who she was about to speak to but before she can, the hybrid smiles and leaves the room. Her brow lifts but a smirk splits her lips as she comprehends that he’s a few steps ahead of her. ‘Thank you…’, she thinks to the being as he crosses the hall back to the smaller room.

               ‘He said I know who he is…’, Getou surmises, ‘…but I really don’t.’. He’s having a hard time connecting how the thing from the Final Stage has become one with the being. ‘Is Choso in danger because of it?’. Suguru’s inherent response to that energy is adverse considering the torture he’s survived in that stage. First, there were the endless months he spent learning the time manipulation technique. No one other than himself and Genghis are aware of this though since it’s truly hard to explain how he experienced that in a matter of hours through everyone else’s perception. He endured loops of the initial frenzy and suffered tremendously with being unable to bond with Elska right away. Suguru’s entire demeanor depresses as his heart mimics the same despair that nearly consumed him while in the depths of that training.

               Then there’s the most recent situation where he relived all of his worst life experiences repeatedly. It was maddening, cruel and unusual. His fists clench without his notice as the memory of crushing his parents plays ever so freshly in his mind as if it were once dulled. Nightmares made sure it never was. ‘That thing…’, Getou grinds his teeth as he correctly blames it for orchestrating this additional trauma, ‘What do I do about it?’. There’s a piece of Suguru that recognizes its enigmatic air as something important and kin to them all but he can’t make heads or tails as to why. He doesn’t realize that Elska has since sat behind him on the edge of the couch; only after minutes of her caressing does he snap back to the present. “Little one…”, he coos, reaching over his shoulder to hold her hand as he twists to his back.

               Elska cups his face, relieved that he doesn’t seem angry like she assumed when he didn’t respond. Her eyes cast over his features, moving from one eye to the other, then down to his nose, lips and back up to his hair. She says nothing as she runs her fingers over his scalp and simply cherishes his being alive and well, whispering, “I’m glad you’re home.”. She catches the way his brow folds, as if he never thought have such a place with her.

               “Elska…”, he turns his head to kiss her hand, screwing his eyes shut as he does, “Home?”. Her soft giggles force him to smile as he ponders on this being some kind of hallucination. She leans down with glowing eyes and gently connects their mouths which causes him to feel the domestication in their dynamic blossom. He wants this to be their routine, their norm.

               Choso comes back through the door with a blanket and pillow in hand. His own heart flutters to the scene before him as it marks the end of the Titer’s isolation. ‘I regret how much he’s had to endure for the sake of my workings…’, he speaks internally but at least finds resolution in the fact that Suguru Getou will finally experience the security he deserves, ‘I’ve taken everything from you.’. He quietly approaches them bearing the gifts of comfort to which Elska thanks him prior to tucking the large Titer under the blanket.

               “Get some rest, ok?”, she whispers before kissing Suguru on the cheek, “And if you need anything, just ask alright?”.

               Getou beams warmly in response, wishing she’d cuddle up with him despite there not being much room but nods instead. He’s apprehensive about Gojo waking up after hearing what Choso had to say so he’s not truly planning on sleeping, but rather is going to keep guard over her.

               Choso snickers to the attempt to fool them both but of course, he knows Suguru will interfere with Satoru and that would only cause his death. After Elska stands and tells her Titer goodnight, Choso looks down to Getou and says, “Sleep.”.

               Suguru instantly falls unconscious and this rubs her the wrong way so she turns to Choso and demands to know why he did that. “He’s defenseless like this!”, she shouts before turning around to glance at Naoya and Toji who she’s sure will be displeased with him being there.

               Choso doesn’t like the tone she’s using as it sends agony through his chest. He narrows his eyes, grabs her wrists and forcibly leads her over to the bed. He hears his name in her troubled voice but says nothing until she’s placed before Gojo. “Suguru wasn’t going to rest Elska, he was waiting to defend you against him.”, he explains as he points to the not so silver shaman. She relaxes a bit which tells him she understands but just to make sure he reiterates, “Satoru is going to need you…”, and blasts him with a flash of violet light.

               “What did you do?!”, she yelps as she bucks away to frantically check over her Sati. Choso is now starting to exact a menacing demeanor with everyone and she’s picking up on it already. Luckily though, she finds nothing wrong with Gojo but notices the whitening of his hair and studies it with perplexity. Before she can even ask, Choso slumps up behind her and bends her over the mattress.

               As he grips her waist and deeply rubs himself into her rear, his eyes glow red with frustration as he wants to take her again. Her little whimpers of ambiguity as she sprawls out over Gojo tempts every indecent fiber of his existence. Mictlantecuhtli growls when her flesh dimples from his fingers and nearly loses sight of his own mission until he senses Yuuji and Nobara returning to the campus, ‘Brother.’.

               Elska holds her breath while Choso unmounts her and tenderly helps her to a stand, his behavioral switch throwing her off. “My hybrid?”.

               “All I did was ensure that Satoru would wake up before the rest but do not worry yolotli”, he licks across her lips and ignores her stunned expression, “the others will all wake by the morning.”. Choso’s happy to see her eyes light up to the confirmation of his actions, glad that she believes him. “I will return shortly but I wish to see my brother for a while.”.

               Elska, far less defensive, hugs the being and grants him leave with her blessing, “Tell them I said hey, will you?”. Choso cackles innocently, a sound that strikes her soul as it can only be her hybrid forming such a distinctive laugh. She knows he’s different but whatever changed within him oddly leaves her with some peace. Sure, he’s doing a lot of strange things and is definitely acting inversely but there’s something about his twisted presence that soothes her. It’s familiar, nurturing even.

               Gojo begins to stir which is Choso’s cue to exit and he does so by slipping away his fingers from her pretty neck as he goes to turn. “Everything is going to be alright… but you need to be patient with him.”, he confidently speaks while quickly leaving the room. He stops as he turns the knob to briskly add, “And don’t take any shit from him either. Put him in his place, only you can do that.”. As the door shuts behind him, Choso picks up his pace, walking faster and faster until he leaves through the foyer and heads towards the dorms across the way. He’s very excited to see Itadori but there’s more purpose to this meeting than that. Choso’s caught between aggravation and excitement as he approaches the first building and quietly states, “You owe me an explanation, Sukuna…”.

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               Elska cautiously caresses Satoru as he twitches every so often and whimpers in his sleep. She catches the first tear that falls from the corner of his now ashier looking lashes, missing the others that pour out. “Oh Sati…”, she grimaces to the noises he makes, choking on his own breath as if he’s having the worst of dreams, “Sweet Sati…”. She climbs over top of him but bends down to lay on his chest, hoping that her presence can reach him. He does seem to simmer down a bit, granting her respite but after a few seconds of triumph, his arms wrench around her hazardously. Before she understands what’s going on, she’s being slammed against a wall. The air has been knocked out of her lungs, her throat being viced anyway but her fearful eyes glow as Gojo’s crazed two-toned expression hones into her. “He’s frenzied!”, she struggles out, only her knowing what the gurgled words were meant to be.

               Gojo lifts her by the neck, pushing her up higher towards the ceiling until her scent catches his attention. “Luuuv-….”, he growls wickedly, squeezing her throat progressively more. His other hand begins clawing at her chest, tearing ribbons of skin away as he peels his love in a belligerent rage.

                “Don’t take any shit from him.”, Choso’s words play in her ears, “Put him in his place.”

               Something in Elska breaks, or rather, releases. With a wild cry, she swings up her right knee, cracking his elbow to which he doesn’t release her but they both fall to the floor. He viciously growls while gathering to his knees and flings his broken arm to drag her closer. Elska bears her fangs, not at all deterred. He slugs her but she takes the frightful hit as gracefully as possible before pushing her feet up from the ground to launch her lower half upwards. They grapple for a few but she’s ultimately determined enough and successfully wraps her thighs around his neck and then bends backwards to extend his injured extremity out. She put him in an arm-bar. Elska snarls into the air as she uses her entirety to pull his arm out of socket, needing to injure his offense before this gets out of control and he becomes serious. “SAAAATII!”, she screams in her lowly voice as his shoulder finally gives, his own roars competing to be heard. She swiftly scurries back over top of him, fighting horrendously to keep his long flailing body against the floor. He bucks up, she gains air. He tries to roll over, she’s straddles for balance. He disappears.

               “Shit…”, she huffs, stilled momentarily in distress. It doesn’t last long though because as she gulps and closes her eyes, he can be heard behind her. She waits…patiently. When Satoru lunges with his animalistic cries, Elska rolls to her side, dodging him. There’s no time to lose though and she’s come to see this so she tears open her own wrist and fills her mouth with the blood. Gojo pushes from the floor over in her direction and when he does, Elska connects a back fist across his beautiful face, her heart compressing in response. ‘There’s no time…’, she tells herself again, climbing over his battered form and latching her lips to his own to force feed her essence. It’s instantaneous almost, how his hypertonicity fades. He threatening hands cling to her affectionately, his shrieks turned to muffled moans resounding between swallows.

               Gojo focuses his view and blinks to her glowing ones inches from his face, startling him. He doesn’t throw her off or anything but he sits up with a quickness and holds his head as he takes in her injuries. “LOVE!”, he shouts as her bloodied chin shows pearly whites between lips that turn upwards to a satisfied grin. He tries to pick her up but feels the pain from his dangling arm and gasps, “What the fuck happened to us?!”, but then he actually starts to remember.

               “Shhh…”, Elska crawls into his lap and pushes her hair over her shoulder, “You need more, Sati…”, drawing him into her neck. She feels his quivering lips against her skin but cradles his head and tells him, “You’re alright, everything is alright.”. His high whines sound so foreign, his trembling body so unlike the man she knows. She thinks he’s going to pierce her until he wails into her neck, prompting her to study his eyes.

               “I…”, Gojo sobs while frantically folding up the skin he raked from her chest, as if it would be fine and link like puzzle pieces. “FUCK!”, he peers to his own stained hands that have her blood and tissues under his nails, “I… I did it again!”, he darts his tearing eyes to Elska.

               “I’m ok Sati!”, she sniffles and holds him once more, “You can’t help it either! Don’t blame yourself!”. Waves of his breath create humidity in the small area where he cries, his hands defeatedly out beside him as if he doesn’t want to touch her. Digging her chin into the top of his head, she solidifies her hold to express to him that she’ll never let him go. “Just feed Sati, I will too, ok?”, she nuzzles her face into his palish hair, “I’ll explain everything, just do it…please.”.

               Satoru inhales sharply through his teeth, terrorized by what he’s done. The images of her struggling to breathe near the ceiling where he pinned her, blind him mercilessly. “My-…love.”, he chokes out, sensing her desperation to get him under control. It depletes him of his wits, her never ending devotion to the monster that never fails to fucking hurt her. “I- I can’t...”.

               Elska feels how unstable he remains and is growing anxious with his current lack of reason. He’s always been a very direct man but there’s something different about the crumpled display she’s tangled into that causes her to shed more tears. “Yes…”, she pulls away and lifts his chin so she can see his eyes, “You can.”. His two-toned hue illuminates more as his eyes flare open and refracts from his wettened lashes.

               Gojo studies the colorful dashes beaming down at him and comprehends that his vicious little Elska in her true form but is being incredibly gentle. His six-eyes detect something within her that’s evolved, a variance he still can’t quite finger but its so immensely overpowering that he’s left in awe. As he speechlessly looks up to his woman, she bends her neck to tenderly meet lips. Another tear streams down his face as she exacts how understanding she is yet again.

               “I love you Sati…so much…”, she whispers into him, “When will you learn that there is nothing, and I mean nothing that you could do to lose my love?”. He finally responds positively and saves words in order to kiss her back, normalcy slowly creeping over them. She means for him to feed immediately but his uncharacteristic submissiveness draws her in as she also needs him to know how irreplaceable he is. She cups his face but turns it to the side as she trails her lips across his cheek to his ear where she lets out a soft gasp before trapping his lobe.

               Her passion calls to him but his culpability keeps him weighted with confliction. She’s trying to speak the language he wields best, the physical kind. Usually this would distract him without issue but the fact remains that he’s met with this strange affliction that keeps him depressed.

               Elska, catches wind of the usual rouse not working and decides she needs to ramp it up a bit. She can sense through his energy that he’s still rather dejected and not back to normal, that of which she isn’t having. Removing the fastener from her robe she looks down to her tear-stained lover and commands, “Arms above your head.”.

               Satoru eyes her oddly but heeds the demand, wincing to his worthless arm as she ties them together at the wrists but then secures that to the post on the bed. When she tugs it, he’s forced to scoot closer until his shoulders are at least resting against the mattress, his legs laid out straight in front of him. He doesn’t understand why she’s doing this but also isn’t about to question her while the dashes persist in her eyes.

               “So, you feel badly, my sweet Sati?”, she taunts as she straddles him once more. His confusion is blatant but she also perceives his trust when he nods. “What you’re feeling is accountability…”, she sweetly explains as she yanks down his pants to his knees, finding that he’s still not aroused. ‘Is he actually ok?’, she wonders nervously while maintaining her masterful air, ‘This isn’t like him at all.’.  She removes her robe to consume him with nudity as she lightly drags her nails down his abs, “Most people feel that all the time Sati, but you’re unique.”.

               He shuts his eyes and attempts to focus on what she’s doing instead of the demons raging within. Her wild call resounds however, causing them to open as the gusts of wind sail past him to expose all four of her wings.

               She smiles amiably as he gawks at them, lifting his chin when his curiosity subsides to be replaced with that same lamentable expression. “You’ve done many terrible things and have escaped the emotional repercussions for a long time…”, she notices his eyes feign pain to her words, “But you do not have to suffer this alone for you will never be alone.”. His jaw tenses as if he’s in disbelief so she continues, “This must be love.”.

               Gojo inhales shakily and whimpers to the beautiful memory as the only woman he’s ever wanted to be with forces him to understand that it’s still reciprocated. She leans down and hovers over his lips before finishing her speech with, “My King.”. Suddenly everything is clearer. Yes, he still has mountains of guilt to dig through, countless slain faces to reckon with but he also still has enemies to devour, people to protect her from. He is hers and she is his. His voice returns with strength, the same tenacity as before, “My love”.

               Elska’s lips part when she feels his throbbing member take breath and excitedly squeals as she attacks him with fevered kisses. His own low and spacey chuckles interrupt their timing as lips meet teeth but this doesn’t dare ruin the moment. She shifts her weight to her knees, stealing his hardened flesh for herself and bears his girth as she works down over it. She’s pleased when Gojo’s head whips back in pleasure and he presents with half-lidded eyes that seemingly stain the whitened disheveled locks. It’s only now that she questions if his physical appearance changed from evolution or from psychological stress, praying it wasn’t the latter.

               Nothing matters but her and their loved ones; the turned, the junior shaman, their friends. Her sensuality as she slowly rides him pulls these realizations back to the forefront where they belong. He can’t stand to see her lacerations caused by literally his own hand though so with nothing but a growl to gain her attention, he tells her through thought, ‘You feed first my love’, and turns his head away so she can. Her lack of hesitation fuels him with their bond, how he comprehends that she’s willing to bargain with him even under circumstances such as this. When her fangs puncture him, he’s so overcome with euphoria that he breaks his restraints, post included, to embrace her wholly.  

               She whimpers uncontrollably to his essence, the flavor he feigns is so much viler now. It’s enchanting. She mumbles his name in between gulps while he lifts her thighs to plunge her with ecstasy. This is her Sati, the poisonous man that changed her life the day he decided her existence belonged to him. She loves him. She loves every ounce of bitterness that flows through his veins, every murderous thought the trickles in his mind. It’s so pleasing, his seasoning. Far after her wounds have healed, she takes in more just to decipher his feelings, to ensure he’s stable. It’s a hard thing to concentrate on when his wonderful divider splits her core as his beautiful moans confine her ears. She tastes that the prolonged combination of her bite and body are whisking him away to his end though so she lifts her head and closes his marks, falling in love all over again.

               Satoru huddles her against his chest but then flips her over to her back, chunks of wood splintering from the floor as her wings make first contact. She doesn’t release them but rather folds them around his body as if to symbolize her protective nature regarding him. He doesn’t know how its possible, but she’s never appeared more beautiful to him than she is in this moment. It steals his breath away honestly, how she expectantly stares up to him with open arms, welcoming his feeding like it’s a gift. First, he enters her once more but slowly, tenderly. She slickens him and clenches to whatever expression he wears, becoming so mesmerized by the dashes that dissolve any superficial barriers between them. He can be himself. He pulls out of her but ducks down to suckle her sensitive bundle of nerves as there’s nothing more he wants to do than demonstrate his unwavering obsession. His arm throbs horribly but while in this setting, he uses that to indulge his affinity to pain. “You are everything to me…”, he speaks into that second favorite smile of his prior to unleashing his oral prowess that causes her to contort and cry out. “Yes love…”, he calls to her, “Cum on my tongue.”.

               Elska recognizes his mannerisms and smiles deviously to his tone as she arches. When he feeds it into her and twists his tongue, a surprised gasps escapes her. When he stops to tend to her clitoris again though, she whimpers into a loud moan that must have held all of her volume. She most certainly does cum on him and her eyes nearly cross from the fact that it was him that demanded it. Her pheromones are billowing inside but she hasn’t a single qualm about letting them out so she does so without restriction. Cool air circulates between her legs as his heat dissipates but she feels his body lowering over hers and does her best to not look as much of a mess as she must be. As she exhales deeply to try and survive the remnants of the orgasm, his lips steal her purpose and are commandeered for his liking.

               Gojo loves how she doesn’t shy away from drinking in her own arousal, and moans wantonly as he pushes back through her folds. Her healed body teases him as her breasts bounce from his thrusts, suctioning him deeper. He props his busted arm under her elevated back and keeps her anchored with his weight as he licks into the crook of her neck. The sound of their skin slapping together sings to him like a song he’s not heard in forever and as much as he’d love to visualize his length plowing her, he remains as he is, needing to indulge in their intimacy. He rolls his hips to a stop, completely sheathed by her as he finally forms his fangs. Her eyes flash up to him, colorful and full of emotion as she anticipates his bite. “I know you have to do something to this world, love…”, he speaks with abated breath as she curiously stalks him, “…and I don’t care what that is. I will help you.”.

               Elska, caught off guard by his seemingly random declaration, runs a hand through his sweaty hair and asks, “You remember me saying that?”. It feels like a lifetime ago but she recalls the conversation when she was in the other form explaining her origins. He nods yes and smiles before bending down to flick his tongue along her nipple, causing her core to flutter around his buried length.

               “You said the stipulation the Oda’s must fulfil is ending humanity, correct?”, he asks it so casually as he licks a stripe up her entire breast.

               Elska’s brow furrows, caught between his ministrations and meaning, “Do you mean to tell me that you have no reservations over that?”. Sure, Satoru Gojo is a menace but she’s tongue-tied over his easy condemnation of the world.

               “None.”, he confesses as he starts working his hips once more. They’re soon panting into each other but he manages to add, “Your debts are my debts. Your desires, my own.”. Her expression reads bewilderment but her body tells the truth as she tightens around him. “Fuck the humans, love. They would never treat you kindly anyways. They’re filth; conniving little flesh sacks that would try to end you if they weren’t so weak.”.

               Elska clings to her sweet Sati as he charms her body and mind alike. The veiny rod of her conqueror drags through her walls as his lecherous presence shines without a veil. ‘He means it.’, she admits as his caring, wildly ominous eyes adore her from above.

               “I definitely do mean it.”, he clarifies verbally with a calamitous smirk that he lowers to her lips. He slips his tongue into her and slows his rhythm as he’s not wanting to end this perfect space in time where they currently exist. Satoru has always hated everything about this world; the clans, the shaman society, the elders, the stupid fucking non-shaman they’re sworn to protect. It’s all worthless or corrupt. “Fuck the King too. I’ll kill him and every single one of his turned…”, he snarls into her as he senses her nearing finality. “That fucking cunt will never-…”, Gojo moans to the heat building in his groin as she cries out his name, “He will never take you away from us, my love.”. His moans turn to grunts as she convulses around him, her physical response to his actions and stance twisting his testicles into a warm sensation of release. “You belong here with me…”, he whines as he desperately staves off his own end until he makes his point, thrusting, “and Naoya…and Toji…”, his hips stutter as he loses his own battle, “and Getou…and Cho-…”, he groans profoundly as he fills her, “sssso.”.

               Elska releases her wings and coddles Satoru when he breathlessly collapses overtop of her. She strokes his hair while they catch their breath, her mind stuck on his readiness to literally turn this world upside down. It should be corrosive but, in all actuality, it makes her feel as if this is indeed the right course to take. Choso said he’d do anything for her but she wasn’t expecting this. Elska knows Satoru means it though, from the very bottom of his obsidian heart and promises, “I will remain with you…forever.”.

               Gojo lifts his head to view her and brushes the stray strands from her face attentively, “Then forever it is.”. Howling wind from the hall jars the latched bedroom door, giving the façade that something is haunting them. No other distractions exist however as they lay against the cold floor, glistening from the ramifications of satisfaction. Something nearly left his lips as they stalled into this moment together, words he never fathomed would take life of their own. He almost proposed. This is shocking to him but not entirely as the initial wave of “WHAT THE FUCK GOJO”, dispels and leaves him to comprehend that this desire is unavoidable. “Love?”, he sheepishly asks but looks away nervously when she giggles, “You wouldn’t marry me, would you?”.

               Elska’s entire body jolts as if he’d cursed her but its only because she’s now concerned again, “Are you feeling ok, Sati?”. She’s never needed the title of marriage and he’s never shown interest in it either and although she would happily be his wife, she looks over her should to barely see Naoya’s profile and subjects to the knowledge of that crushing her prince.

               “I’m fine!”, Gojo laughs it off and hides his frown, having caught what gave her hesitation. He’d honestly forgotten about his Zenin friend for a minute there and didn’t mean to put her in that kind of predicament. He chews his lip while trying to save them both from this awkward pause but her voice breaks his train of thought.

               “Isn’t it weird that you are my boyfriend but we’re both considerate of my lover?”, she couldn’t help but state the obvious as when spoken, it almost doesn’t make sense. It comes off insane actually. They share a laugh of irony that fizzles out to his lips meeting her neck.

               “When you put it that way, I sound like a fucking chode!”, he snickers playfully as he forms his fangs. He’s not lost his interest in this topic but would rather come back to it after he works out a few kinks, “Naoya is important to me too though, love and I know how much he means to you…”. He skips his daggers across her skin, thirst drying his tongue, “Maybe you will have to marry all of us.”, he delivers this message hintingly.

               “No one-…”, she shivers in preparation for his penetration, “is going to honor such a union, Sati…”, but says it in a way that conveys her adherence to an idea like that, “…not that they matter. I love every single one of you…”.

               “Exactly.”, he jeers into her skin, “And who the fuck is going to stop us?”. She whimpers to his fangs as he clamps into her flesh, the story of her state sending signals to his brain. He’s given the image of the budding plant and inhales brashly when seeing how much it’s grown. ‘Little Zenin, huh?’, he smiles to himself while sifting through other parts of her. Something he tastes is new. As Satoru gently guides her backwards to the floor and begins to decode, an alarming message is sent through his mind.

               “You must know.”        

               His lids flare open, the light from them even blinding himself so he squints. He inherently understands what this ancient voice is and his six-eyes go into overdrive as they work with his new sensory abilities since being turned and break down loads of information within a second.

               “You will know.”

               His retinas begin to heat up from the intense light filtering through him but it’s like the muscular contraction when electrocuted, he can’t break away. He hears Elska’s voice calling to him but there’s nothing he can do as his six-eyes and infinity now couple in efforts to unlock the new visible variances that have troubled him for so long. He’s fucking stuck.

               “Meet with me.”

               He wails in agony as his head feels it may implode, her blood surging from his lips as he coughs and struggles to maintain bodily functions. His ears ring from the pressure and violet light invades his surging eyes.

               “Save her.”

 ((Chapter 89 will be out soon, thank you for reading!))

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Tagging: @syynnaaah @angelofthorr @itstackytime @animemenrbettr

[spaceorphan18]

Was Kurtcedes not replaced by Blaine coming along and taking up all Kurt’s time in season 2? As she didn’t like being the third wheel in The Substitute? I suppose they could have had Kurtcedes together in New York but I guess by then Kurt was Rachel’s side kick. And Mercedes is a lovely character, there wouldn’t be half as much drama going on in the loft in 4/5 as there was with Kurtcheltana.

Also regarding bi Blaine. Personally I don’t like the idea. Why? Well he’d have just been another Sam or Artie figure - dating all the girls in Glee club to provide various stories. Please not another Brittany boyfriend to piss off Santana. Maybe Blaine would have been nice with Tina, in 4/5, purely because he did love her platonically.

But I think it would have changed the Klaine relationships if Blaine had a history of previous girlfriends, maybe even previous boyfriends. The idea of them being each other’s first love, first time, first everything (and last!) and their love and devotion pretty much to no one else, just lifts their whole story. Maybe I’m just being old fashioned.

But I’m more drawn to the bi Sam idea, and the Blam option, if I had to choose a midgame for Blaine.

This has been sitting in my drafts for over a year now, lol...

****

Re: Mercedes -

No, I'd argue that since Kurt was becoming way more popular (I believe he was the most popular character from the show) the writers wanted to capitalize on that bumping him up to a lead character. And thus, it'd be better for the writers to make him share time with the actual main character Rachel.

This is why Season 3 Hummelberry was shoved so hard down our throats. Blaine was a part of Kurt's story, and while there are a lot of reasons as to why Blaine faded into the background more during season 3 (mainly Darren's schedule) by season 3, they wanted to make Hummelberry a feature, and not have Klaine (or Kurt's individual story) such a main thing.

Essentially - Kurt's individual arc stops at season 2, because he becomes an accessory in Rachel's story (really, the way Blaine was an accessory to his story in season 2.)

Mercedes and Kurtcedes becomes a relic of the original landscape of the show, unfortunately. They never wanted to Mercedes to a higher tier, hence why she became a B and later C-list character. (To which I lament.)

****

Meanwhile, Bi Blaine!

I remember there was a time when people worried that if Blaine was made bi that'd mean, for some strange reason, that it'd cheapen the Klaine "gay" experience or something weird. :P (I'm definitely not saying that's what you're insinuating - just thinking out loud.)

While I personally don't see the character as bi - I'm always up for more bisexual representation. And I agree there were was a myriad of ways they could have achieved that -- Artie would have been an interesting choice. Jesse St. James another.

I wouldn't have minded if Blaine had experiences before Kurt, either, tbh. And I assumed he had at least made out with people (both boys and girls) before Kurt. I personally don't feal that more or less experience with other people has any affect on one's current relationship. However - people are free to enjoy any aspects of the story how they choose to - and that's fine by me. :)

<3

[thebreathofthewild]

i very much prefer the story of breath of the wild to the alternate timeline we got in age of calamity. not because i’m a timeline purist, i don’t really care much whether it splits off or not, but what DOES matter to me in a story (next to the plot itself) is mainly characterization, relationships and theme.

my main issue with age of calamity’s story isn’t just what they changed... it’s what they DIDN’T change, which then didn’t fit with the new stuff they’d written.

breath of the wild’s story is, in my mind, far from perfect, but it has a consistent, vibe, flow, and a character arc for princess zelda that i believe. more than an individual arc, it’s also a relationship arc with link. the development of that relationship is a key driver of the plot.

in age of calamity... despite reaching the same conclusion - that zelda saves link, her love for him activates her power - that development is absent.

i rewatched all the memories from botw and its like. bro. age of calamity can't even begin to compare. their relationship in botw has an arc.

every scene they're in together serves a purpose to establish a new relationship status or milestone. zelda goes through a Bunch of emotions about link: first quiet resentment, then Louder resentment at how he’s doing better at his role than she is at hers, then full-on ANGY, then admiration, mixed with guilt and regret for having lashed out that way to someone who would save her anyway...

from then, she humbly tries to be nicer through tending link’s wounds. she allows herself to be more playful and goof off with him, then Actually Opens Up about her insecurities - displaying true vulnerability when they're caught in the rain together. we know from zelda’s diary that link also shares his own troubles with her, and that she was trying to get him to open up was well. 

then, zelda’s excitingly sharing more hobbies (ancient tech) and hoping that maybe, just maybe, her research can substitute her lack of powers. in the same scene, link gets to witness a true relationship milestone: a parent yelling at your friend/gf in front of you. then zelda shows Even More vulnerability as she has a meltdown about her fears & insecurities at the spring of power in front of him (knowing he's there & not afraid to show him). at this point, she even allows herself to be angry at her dad, instead of solely blaming herself. 

then she gains further appreciation for link teaching her how to handle horses (and says she’s trying to be a bit more empathetic to the horse, as a metaphor for her being nicer to link and more selfless in general), sharing her faint hope for mt lanayru...  then that hope is crushed, and zelda decides to stay by link’s side (instead of urbosa hiding her) regardless of danger.

the calamity strikes. they flee together - which leads to zelda having a total beakdown, as the others die and link’s the only one she has left. the mix of guilt, despair and grief becomes too much, so she leans on him, both physically and emotionally, and he is always there to comfort her. 

THEN, finally, zelda has reached a point of loving link enough to be able to save his life, knowing he will do the same someday. which he does, and in the epilogue, she acknowledges both the pain of the past and how (because him remembering her is what unlocks this ending) he is a big part of the reason why she can accept herself now, even with her power fading & her role fulfilled.

that's an ARC, baby! 

i have my problems with botw as an overall narrative (especially its muddled messaging on whether zelda should be forced to have this traditional role), but i cannot fault how carefully they built the zelink relationship step-by-step without taking shortcuts. in these brief snippets, you see just enough to understand how zelda went from almost hating link to truly loving him.

by contrast... here’s the AoC zelink arc, despite having 3x the cutscene runtime: zelda feels quietly insecure, but doesn’t take it out on link. link saves her, as a bodyguard is supposed to. they exchange glances. they don’t talk / bond. link saves zelda again. they exchange glances. they don’t talk / bond... they flee together. then she saves link out of “love.”

that’s it. that’s literally it. 

AoC-zelink go from two (2) Meaningful Glances to zelda activating her powers, because of a bodyguard she has not spent one real second bonding with. 

link saving zelda was a turning point for their relationship in botw, yes - but here’s the key difference: it was a starting point, not the end destination. it made zelda re-evaluate how she saw link, because she was a dick to him first. THAT prompts her to try to understand someone who was kind and selfless despite how poorly she treated him. which leads to many scenes of them bonding more.

so, hot take: the real, original sin here which almost all of these issues grow from, is that they didn’t let zelda be flawed in age of calamity. 

because age of calamity-zelda was never a jerk to link, she has no reason to go out of her way to be nicer and get to know him when he saves her anyway. that’s just standard bodyguard stuff, and that’s all it’s allowed to be. they don’t share private moments of vulnerability. they don’t share at all, really.

because of this, their relationship - which became its own, organic thing in botw - is never allowed to grow. it stays knight & princess without any real flavor to it. 

i think this could be avoided if age of calamity-zelda was as strong of a character as botw-zelda was. neither is like, a literary masterpiece, but there’s a clear contrast. both are insecure and want to stop ganon, but... that’s all AoC-zelda is allowed to be, until she’s suddenly a Perfect Badass Goddess with no personality other than shouting “for hyrule!”

botw zelda didn’t just have that central insecurity. she has hobbies, she goofs off, she gets angry at people, she starts out with a huge inferiority complex towards link. she can be selfish and rebellious and clearly likes research more for its own sake than its ability to stop the calamity. she becomes nicer over time and more compassionate (unlike age of calamity, which treats it as given that she was always “boundlessly” compassionate), but that’s where she got because link was nice to her, not where she started out. 

and all of this fits into theme. age of calamity is a power fantasy in a notoriously over-the-top warriors franchise. its all about self-empowerment and looking good while kicking ass. breath of the wild is about exploration, slowly piecing together what happened 100 years ago and moving past grief into hope for the future.

i’ll put it this way - botw zelda had an arc to become a better person. aoc zelda only ever became a more powerful person.

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

[actuallyastingray]

Wednesday Season 2 Theory Time

So, two months after the big reveal, I finally finish Wednesday on Netflix (to be fair, I tried to make it a family event but family dragged their damn feet) and we ended up brainstorming a few cool plot ideas for future seasons after the finale. These are just ideas, but I feel like with the recent announcement regarding future seasons, it's time to throw fuel on the speculation fire. As an added note, I will not be speculating on the stalker’s identity, as I believe this is a character we have not yet been introduced to. Further spoilers underneath if you haven’t already watched.

#1

Returning home for the next semester, it becomes apparent that the Nevermore board of directors have failed to locate suitable replacements for Laurel and Weems. As a result, they have invited several Nevermore alumni to act as substitutes for the semester, with the promise that one of them may become the next headmaster/headmistress of the school. Naturally, among the substitutes is Morticia, whose presence as the new botany teacher puts renewed strain on Her’s and Wednesday’s relationship. However, as the semester banquet commences, one of the substitutes is found dead during the proceedings, setting off the new semester mystery. Wednesday is more concerned with discovering the identity of her mysterious stalker, who continues to torment her, as well as stomaching the idea that her mother may once again overshadow her life as the potential new headmistress. However, as the body count continues to rise and panic takes hold, she if forced to put her investigations and personal grudges on hold to sort out this latest mystery before her mother ends up as the prime suspect, or worse

#2

Among the many changes of the returning semester, the Nevermore students discover that Bianca’s family have moved into nearby Jericho. Right from the start, it becomes apparent that the sirens are up to no good: Bianca’s father, Gideon, is elected mayor, Gabrielle takes over as the new town psychiatrist, and Bianca’s family/cult members take up positions all over town, including replacing sheriff Galpin. Meanwhile, Morning Song takes over Jericho and puts the citizens in a permanent trance, with their newfound friendliness unnerving the Nevermore students. It isn’t long before Morning Song begins taking hold over Nevermore as well. Wednesday confronts Bianca, who reveals that her family's siren powers were supposed to be fading, and yet her mother’s powers have somehow returned tenfold. While Wednesday continues to suspect that Bianca knows more then she is letting on, she soon confronts a far worse reality: she and the Nightshades are the only students in the school unaffected by the sirens. With her allies all being potential sleeper spies, Wednesday and Bianca must stop Morning Song from reaching their goal: awakening a slumbering beast from beneath the nearby lake in exchange for ultimate power.

#3

Upon returning to Nevermore, Wednesday must confront the reality that her visions are getting out of control. Without Goody Addams’ help, she has no one who can teach her to control them. In seeking help from Xavier, she discovers that his seer powers are also acting up, and his latest paintings depicting her family covered in blood are unsettling even to her. Meanwhile, several new students have arrived at Nevermore for the semester and are competing with Wednesday’s friends at every turn, causing a mutual dislike for them among the Nightshades. Uncaring for social standing, and more then capable of matching a student who is determined to best her, Wednesday pours her focus into finding a way to control her erratic visions. In delving deeper into Goody Addams’ history, however, she uncovers a shocking secret: Goody was not the only Outcast who escaped Joseph Crackstone, nor was she the only one to leave a legacy. The pieces fall into place as Wednesday discovers this other family, a dark reflection of the Addams and their ways, is out for revenge on both Jericho and Nevermore for the suffering they endured, and plan to bring their family matriarchs wrath down upon their enemies. Worse, she is forced to play on the defensive with this threat: this rival family does not know about Goody Addams’ legacy and could exact terrible revenge against the Addams’ if they find out. Realizing she is outnumbered, Wednesday turns to the only people at school she can still count on, the Nightshade’s. It’s time to reawaken Goody Addams’ former cult to protect Nevermore from its enemies.

#4

After a summer without incident, Wednesday’s return to Nevermore is marred by crisis. Her visions have become massively more frequent and powerful, even tangible in some cases. It becomes apparent that she is not the only one around the school seeing things; the student body is plagued by nightmares, as well as strange, ghostly occurrences. These begin as benign, but soon transition into sinister, and then outright malicious acts. Jericho meanwhile has been beset by repeated paranormal attacks that can only be described as demonic. An emergency call to the Addams resident paranormal expert Grandmama Frump confirms the worst: these attacks are deliberate occurrences. Someone is stirring up the ghosts of Joseph Crackstones victims and setting them against the citizens of Jericho. Wednesday needs to make sense of her erratic visions and nightmares in order to discover who is responsible for these attacks, before they set a full-on zombie apocalypse loose on Jericho

[bookdork1]

i know we harp on and on about atomic monsters and the funko pops but i also think the b plot deserves some attention. if not only because sam and dean are the b plot in this episode, which is rare. all the audience really cares about in that episode is becky’s successful etsy store and chuck messing up her alone time.

but back to the b plot. its about a vampire. and its about parents and children. all the excuses made for their kid. the parents are willing to become kidnappers and murderers and they dont really care. they are literally more concerned about a college scout than they are their own slipping morality or their son’s mental state (hint: its very much in a bad place). so. dean and sam confront the family and figure out “oh. its not the dad like we thought. its the son” and the dad says “you dont have kids do you” and its a clear shot at dean and boy does it hit the mark. and then the kid comes downstairs and says. no mom and dad. let me die. i deserve to die, “this is the best way. this is the only way” and he calmly gets in the car with sam and dean, drives to the woods, and lets dean behead him. and the episode is screaming at us about that kid’s final lines before the montage. because we are following the original script s1 of how to deal with all monsters, regardless of how it rips a family apart even as we question who the real monster in that episode is (its the dad). and here’s the kicker. dean’s fatherhood is called out and held up for the audience “you dont have kids do you” and the audience thinks “yes, he does. he had a son” and then. deankills the boy. finally abraham kills isaac. dean essentially does what chuck wanted him to do in 14x20, just with a substitute. and after dean swings the blade down on the boy’s neck we cut back to becky, reacting to chuck’s finale. and there’s a speech in the car about blah blah blah “we stay in the life because we’ve always been in the life and sometimes we save people which was our original tagline.” 

but that speech. it takes place after chuck has rested back control of the narrative. it makes you want to ascribe dean’s entire speech in the car to being written by chuck. its so canned. its taking the motw case and saying “buck up sam, you’re slipping and chuck doesnt want to physically move both of us across the chess board when nudging just one gets the other to fall in line”. both of them back on board, not trying to get out of the life, not thinking too hard about the people they’ve lost (after all, if dean says something about honoring them by continuing to kill people in the car, that’s good enough) and not trying to change anything, even as dean says they’re free because chuck is pseudo gone

its literally, i am not kidding at all:

dean says “now that chuck’s gone, we are on our own. we are finally free”

sam: “i don’t feel free”

*cut to chuck typing away on becky’s stolen laptop as the episode fades to black*

[joezworld]

Any headcanons about Ever Ace and the other new A-class Evergreen ships? This totally isn’t just because I love your version of Ever Given and want more of her and her family XD

The following is an excerpt from How to Avoid Huge Ships, Or: I Never Met a Ship I Liked by Capt. John W. Trimmer (National Writers Press, 1982)

Chapter 14: The Emotional State of Ships

For most captains, the emotional state of a seagoing vessel (other than your own, of course) is often seen as irrelevant - after all, who cares if the seven hundred foot tanker about to run over you and your ketch is a nice person or not?

However, like many common beliefs in the marine industry, this is an incorrect one. The mental state of vessels is vital to continued safe navigation.

First, we must mention the obvious: An unhappy ship is a dangerous ship. Think about the last time you drove to the store while upset. Now pretend you weighed several thousand tons and required a mile and a half to stop in an emergency. I imagine your car insurance premiums might be a bit higher, no?

Then we must mention Fleets.

Allow me to explain: While this may be seen as a massively reductive statement, most large vessels (and most living machines for that matter, including commercial aircraft, railway locomotives, and even large dragline cranes) are best viewed as pack animals. When left alone to their own devices (and the growing economic benefits of 'machine autonomy' have meant that more shipping lines are allowing ships to go off by themselves!) vessels will often form a "fleet", as they call them, which substitutes for what we humans would call a joint family.

A fleet may include any number of vessels and relationship combinations, ranging from a number of single vessels who consider themselves siblings, to sets of separate married couples, and even groups of non-monogamous vessels whose conduct would make a Mormon blush. That being said, regardless of type, bonds formed in this manner are extremely strong, and will often overcome any difference between vessels - see the growing trend of former US Pacific Fleet vessels and their former Imperial Japanese Navy spouses!

Now, what does any of this have to do with the continued safety of marine navigation, I hear you ask? Well, let me put it to you in the simplest terms possible:

If you were to wrong me in some way, I might decide to take legal action against you, or I might lick my wounds and walk away. I might even go to the police if the offense were serious enough.

If you were to wrong a ship, and the offense were serious enough, they wouldn't lick their wounds, they wouldn't pursue legal action, and they most certainly would not go to the police. Most ships believe quite strongly in the merits of what could be charitably called 'extrajudicial punishment'. Most ships, if they are in such a relationship, would bring this to the attention of their fleet-mates, at which point you would not have one, but several, maybe even a dozen, extremely large and extremely angry ships going after you.

-

Of course, any discussion of the often-overlooked subject of Fleets is incomplete without at least a brief mention of the US/Canadian Great Lakes Fleet, which has managed to continuously add to their numbers through a process they call 'Lake-napping'...

-----

April, 2021 - Great Bitter Lake, Suez, Egypt

The Egyptians were insane, Given concluded. Aside from the obvious - where in the name of all that floated was she going to get nine hundred million US Dollars? - they'd actually called their Navy on her, like some kind of Triad enforcer making sure a mark didn't get away without paying.

He was a tiny ship, really - some old design that made its priorities clear, judging from his open-air flying bridge and thick hull, but the massive anti-ship missile pods on his aft deck showed he could punch well above his weight.

She'd tried speaking to him, but they didn't have a language in common - and that was impressive all on its own. From the short, clipped sentences, and badly accented Arabic, he seemed both Eastern European and decidedly unfriendly.

As the sun set on the end of the first week of what might be a very long stay in Egypt, she wondered if the line might abandon her here. The cheap fucks had already been making noise about replacing her with another, bigger ship, but Ace - still in the shipyard, but already proving herself to be just as loud and annoying as any proper 20,000+ TEU ship, bless her - had made enough noise about "not being a rebound date" that their hand had been forced.

Of course, that was all before the Egyptians decided that they wanted nine hundred million dollars, so who knows?

Another ship went by - the backlog still wasn't through, and convoys continued at all hours. This one was one from CMA CGM, and while she couldn't quite catch his name in the dark, she could absolutely catch the scathing French insults being hurled her way as he passed by.

"Je parle français, toi voilier sans hélice." She sniped at him, relishing in the startled yelp that trailed him into the night. The tugboats pulling him along laughed, and he growled at them as he moved further into the lake.

The missile boat looked at her with what might have been admiration, but it didn't stop him from keeping his guns trained on her as he changed his watch position to a spot off of her stern.

She honestly considered running - the mockery she'd get once she left Egypt might be too much.

As the next ship in line approached, she got a ping on one of the company radio frequencies.

Tuning in, her brow furrowed in confusion - now that everyone had satellite internet downlinks, internet chatrooms had become the primary communication method across the fleet. Evergreen Lines ships had all gravitated towards Discord instead of WeChat or Line, but their server had been strangely silent for most of the last week.

Opening the channel, she caught a flash of a call sign - What was Elpida doing out here? Wasn't she on the Australia run?

"Don't say a word, we've got it under control."

"You what? Who's we?"

Elpida swept past , literally - she was breaking the speed limit for this part of the lake, and had probably been doing so in the Canal too - the ropes to her tugs were taut, and judging by the Arabic screaming, they were trying to get her to slow down or at least let go. She was high in the water - her decks empty of containers - what the hell was going on?

Given was too big for the swells to affect her, but the Egyptian Navy ship wasn't, and he yelped in whatever his native language was as he rocked and rolled in Elpida's wake.

Behind her, a distant cry that sounded suspiciously like the word "Now!" rang out, followed by a deafening cacophony of foghorns.

She'd shut down her radar - because what really was the point? - and it took a worrying few seconds for the Furuno system to spin to life and return a clear result.

Or... what might be a clear result.

All hell seemed to be breaking out behind her - the convoy had broken formation and was going in what seemed like every direction possible. At least ten ships were now going berserk behind her.

The Navy ship, by far the smallest vessel out there, (except the tugs, who were fleeing for their lives, it seemed) spun around towards the main shipping lane.

Collision alarms immediately started wailing on the Canal's common channel as a very large blip on the radar screen (Who turned off their AIS transponders in the Canal?) slowly swung towards him.

The Egyptian seemed stunned for a moment - he'd drifted back into Given's range of vision, and his expression ranged between sheer horror and mildly poleaxed - before he calmed himself and stood down the ship bearing down on him.

That calm look lasted for a few minutes, but as the blip got closer and closer his confidence faded. The doors to his missile pods swung open, but his nerve broke before he could fire them, and the water around his stern frothed up into a roiling tempest as he set off at full astern.

It wasn't enough. He'd held his ground for just long enough for the other ship to reach him.

Slowly - this whole event was playing out in breathless slow motion, because nobody was actually that speedy - a bulbous bow, riding high out of the water without a load of containers, ploughed towards him. It was followed by a bowsprit, one that was so huge it looked like it could have been Given's own.

Then came the name: EVER ACE.

Then came the collision.

Ace (?!) didn't so much collide with the Egyptian ship as she drove over him. His low freeboard meant that the impact with her bulbous bow had his far side dipping into the water. Once his deck hit the swells, it acted like a giant scoop, and his keel was to the night sky within a few seconds. He'd been hit at an angle, so once he'd been pushed free, he slowly rolled back up, a much more traumatized and injured vessel than he had been a minute ago. More importantly, the water gushing out of his missile tubes meant that he was no longer a problem.

"Hey!" Ace boomed as her pilothouse drew even with Given. "Best Sea Trials Ever!"

Behind her, another ship - this one laden and looking a lot like Golden - steamed by. "Stop hanging around and get her out of here!"

"That would be my cue." Another voice called from behind her.

"Tex?" He was in Manila!

"Who else would it be?" Texas Triumph, thick Texan accent and all, steamed up. "now let's jus' get you settled up here and we'll blow this joint."

"This is a rescue?!"

"For sure pardner! We've been planning this since those highwaymen said they was keepin' ya here."

"Stop talking and get her out of here!" Golden bellowed from further up the river. It seemed like she was now intimidating some other tugboats from intervening.

"Well, ya heard 'er." Tex said. "Les' go!"

Given had been so distracted by the appearance of so many members of her family that she hadn't even noticed Tex slipping lines through her hawseholes until they went taut and she was yanked from her moorings by Tex steaming out in pursuit of Ace's retreating form.

She just barely managed to get her anchors retracted before Tex really put some power on, and began to pull her across the lake entirely.

------------------------------------

Later...

The War Zone

Ever Given Escapes Custody Suez Canal Authority claims no responsibility, Egyptian Navy vessel possibly damaged. BY TYLER ROGOWAY April 17, 2021 THE WAR ZONE

📷@mahmou10_ships VIA @SUEZWATCH_EGY

SHARE TYLER ROGOWAY View Tyler Rogoway's Articles @Aviation_Intel Details remain limited at this time, but there was an incident in the Great Bitter Lake. At least one Egyptian Navy vessel has been severely damaged, and MV Ever Given, who had been held in the Great Bitter Lake by the Suez Canal Authority, has now fled the Canal into the Mediterranean Sea.

Again, details are extremely limited, but based on social media reports, marine tracking data, and radio reports, at approximately 11:47 PM Egypt Standard Time (EGY) a disturbance was reported by the Egyptian Navy craft - their identity is still unconfirmed, but images posted to social media seem to indicate that the vessel is a former Soviet Osa-class missile craft. The vessel reported that "A convoy has gone mad" and he was "under attack from multiple vessels".

While a convoy had transited the canal at that time, it is unclear if they were involved in the attack, or if one occurred at all.

We've reached out to Evergreen Lines, The Suez Canal Authority, the Egyptian Navy, and the individual ships believed to be involved, including Ever Given.

We will update this piece as more information comes available.

Contact the author: Tyler@thedrive.com

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